


Liars in the Dark

by PadawanTimeLord



Series: Lusus Naturae [1]
Category: Marvel
Genre: And anxiety, F/M, Jotunn, Like Reader is totally fucked up, Psychic!Reader - Freeform, Reader has mild PTSD, Slow Burn, That’s the sound of canon flying out the window, Younger Loki, and depression, and is an alcoholic, do you hear that?, mentions of abuse, midwest gothic, underaged drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:12:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 37,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadawanTimeLord/pseuds/PadawanTimeLord
Summary: You don't like thinking about the accident. The one that spiraled you out of control, that shattered your normal high school life and turned you into a hermit working at your grandparent's farm. You don't talk about your problems. You pretend not to see what others can't see. And your grandfather doesn't say anything about the watery whiskey you've been diluting to hide how much you drink because the pills don't work.You're pretty fucked up. And though, during your most desperate and sober moments, you think about how much you would love to go to college and learn science and astronomy more than anything. But then you notice the rippling fabric of time, or the gentle brushing of something outside your reality and you're back in the liquor cabinet sneaking booze from the bottle.Then an angel falls from the sky and changes everything. You patch his never healing wounds on his flesh, and he tries to touch the ever churning storm within you. Loki shows you how much better you can be, and in the process, how much better he can be as well.-Rape/Non con tags are not for Loki's relationship with you-





	1. And an Angel Descends? More like Awkwardly Burns Up in the Atmosphere

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters are going to be set when the Reader is 17, then there's going to be a timeskip so both parties can be consenting adults for the smut. You're all welcome and goodnight.

Besides the occasional smell of cow shit, the deep country is really your favorite place to be.

 

And sure, sometimes, when the wind is angled just so, the smell of one of those grossly inhumane cow ranches will carry for miles and miles into your grandparents’ farm, but it’s a small price to pay for the acres of land you have all to yourself. Even with the southern breeze lazily brushing fumes against your nose, you still trapeze through the rocky fields and try to breath through your mouth. 

 

The reason you’re carefully moving through the old, dry riverbed is because of the surprise meteorite that you saw on the news about half an hour ago. Granted, you were mostly trying to read a Stephen Hawking book while the TV volume desecrated your ears, but the second the anchor mentioned a ‘surprise meteorite’ that hit somewhere in your county, you had already made up your mind to go looking for it once Grampa conked out in the living room with the TV still cranked up. The sound of midnight infomercials covering the creaky sounds of your escape, and a good thing because your grandparents’ house was as old as the first pioneers. And honestly, should be twice as dead.

 

You slipped on your scarf and fled into the night, bringing your phone for light. You had a  basic idea of where it could be, but in the dead black of the night, not very positive of how to get there and back. But self destructive determination kicked in, and here you are, slathered in mosquito repellent, wandering around coyote infested country armed with a cell phone and bear spray. The sounds of crickets screeching their mating call is almost more distracting than the cow miasma, but you focus on the steep incline with rocks sharp enough to maim a bull. 

 

Surely, it must be somewhere. 

 

As you accidentally breathe through your nose, you catch a whiff of smoke. It’s faint, but there’s no reason anything should be on fire, especially since this has been a mercifully damp spring. No reason other than an object kindled from the atmosphere. You smell again, and follow the telltale sign of burning until you notice a faint glow up ahead. Forgetting all the careful hiking before, you jog haphazardly towards the dim fire. Except it’s not a fire. And it’s not a chunk of space rock.

 

When you finally see what it is, you look up at the sky and pinch yourself, a little harder than necessary. But when you glance back down at the small crater burned into the flesh of the Earth, there he is.

 

A boy, your age. 

 

In green. 

 

Surrounded by golden, glowing symbols. 

 

Upon further inspection, he appears to be dead. A given, seeing as how it looks as though he is the meteorite that plummeted violently from the sky. Eyes closed, arms splayed at his side, his pale skin looking oddly yellow in the pulsing light from the runes scrawled upon the ground. You watch, fascinated, as the runes writhe and shake, though they seemed etched into the soil a moment ago. They dance around, forming two groups, and then crawl onto this boy’s hands and just- absorbing into his skin. 

 

You don’t make any noise other than a quick intake of breath. You see no reason to shout at him, until you smell the telltale sign of roasting human flesh, a smell you know from a lesser memory etched in the back of your mind. The boy sits up suddenly and screams as though he is being burned. His voice is guttural, old and young, new and deathly. A cacophony of undertones that shouldn’t share the same vocal cords.

 

But your mouth cements shut and you don’t utter a peep. He illuminates the whole valley for just a second, assaulting your eyes with a sudden, primordial light. Then the brightness gone and you’re left with most likely permanently damaged eyeballs. You blink rapidly, trying hard to regain your vision, left completely defenseless for the precious seconds it takes to adjust to the moonless night. 

 

The blurs take shapes and sharpen, and you see the boy laying back on the rocks. Even with the unhelpful light from your phone, you can tell that he’s deathly pale, maybe even blue. 

 

So naturally, you do what anyone might do in the situation. You look around for a stick, an almost impossible task since the only thing that grows out here are the spiky bush trees. Finding something adequate, you gently slide halfway down the side of the crater. Then take your pokey stick and tap the boy on his cheek.

 

Nothing. 

 

You do it again, more violently this time. 

 

He coughs. And this time, you let out a little baby shriek that’s more surprise than fear. His eyes open, bright and golden, before fading into an emerald green. He looks at you, and you look at him. He’s wearing green and black leather, no headgear (you don’t know why you take note of that, though maybe it’s because falling from the sky should at least warrant a helmet), and combat boots. His nails are painted black, and in the starscape, you see the hard outline of his jaw. 

 

“Where am I?” He asks. And you laugh like a madman. 

 

He stares at you, fear brushing through his features as though he believes he’s fallen into hell. Granted, your emotions are fucked up to the point where you laugh at any kind of high-stress situation, but it doesn’t help the stress level of the people around you. You suppose in the darkness you may look like a windigo about to feast on his flesh. So you tamper your remaining panic and end up swallowing wrong and coughing like a maniac with lung cancer. After a few uncomfortable minutes, you look him over and hold out your hand, stating your name. “Nice you meet you.” You blame the late night adrenaline on this behavior. 

 

He hesitantly takes your hand. You shake it firmly and help him up. 


	2. Well that's.... Interesting?

  
  


“My name is Loki.” He introduces himself, wincing with pain. His voice is like honey, warm and melodic. It’s the kind of voice you know spends most of its time getting its way, wheedling into minds and wearing the strongest of resolves down. And though it's noticeably… what’s the word? Younger? Fresher? It reminds you of the whispers that constantly hiss your worthlessness when you lay awake at night. The voice of someone who takes advantage of others and preys on the weak. 

 

When you step back, he nearly falls down on himself. When you see him in the faint illumination from the moon, you lament your stupidity. Of course he isn’t some disembodied voice personified to bring all your self loathing to the surface. What you need is to get it the fuck together, already. He needs help.

 

You quickly wrap his arm around your shoulders to prop him up, spouting your normal excuse for this behavior. “Sorry. My meds make me a little jumpy.” 

 

 Though you’ve only had one pill of akathisia to last you the whole day, most people don’t question you further.  _ That poor girl _ , they’d think,  _ I wonder what’s wrong with her.  _ Once you came to terms with it, though, you didn’t mind so much. People spoil you out of guilt and pity, hoping that karma will see how well behaved they are around you and won’t curse their children. Your favorite of these kinds of favors is Mrs. Blakesley, who has a chocolate muffin ready for you every week when you go see your therapist. They’re a little too dark for most people- just bitter enough for you. 

 

“Meds?” He mumbles like what you just told him went over his head. But he hesitantly obliges your offer for assistance. Slowly, the two of you manage to climb out of the impressively small crater, the task far more difficult than expected as the sides are rather slipper and Loki is very much the deadest of weights. You make a note to later talk to him about maybe being a more considerate damsel in distress. 

 

You dig your toes into the still-warm rock, silently thankful that you put on your tennis shoes at least and not your flip flops. You finally manage to haul his heavy ass over the edge of the crater, just a few inches shy of a partially incinerated cactus. You claw your way up behind him and brush your dusty hands off on your shirt. “Up. Come on,” You yank on his arm again, hauling him up and trying to get your bearings. Without the light from your phone, which you  _ assume _ is in your back pocket, getting home may be a little complicated if you can’t see the hazards that litter the countryside. You’d check for its presence, but your arms are a little preoccupied at the moment so actually using said light is out of the questiont. 

 

Loki makes a sound in between a gurgle and a grunt, suddenly wrenching himself away from you. He bends over the side of the crater and vomits what you are pretty sure is a glowing green liquid. It pools to the center, fading into the soil. You get the sudden, ridiculous an slightly homicidal urge to kick him into the hole, you could hear the laughter in the back of your mind as a voice chants for you to  _ do it, do it, do it, do it.  _

 

You shake the thought aside and opt to awkwardly pat him on the back instead, trying to imitate what you’ve seen on Gram’s reality tv networks. He wipes his mouth and glares at the ooze that’s collected at the bottom, taking deep breaths. He sits up in a kneeling position, his body silhouetted against the starlight. This deep in the country, far away from any polluting lights of the city, you have a perfectly clear sky. The milky way shines radiantly near the horizon, in the perfect position again Loki’s figure to give off the impression of wings splayed from his back. It could just be the sugar crash from all the pie you ate, or that twilight of almost soberness, but even though he’s covered in mud, puked up contents that seem radioactive, and is probably a hallucination from your prozac withdrawal, he seems almost angelic. 

 

“Who are you?” You blurt out, and within your every right to ask. 

 

He turns to you. His hair is long and shaggy in some areas, dusty from laying in the ground. You can’t see his face with your eyes, but you can definitely feel power flowing from inside and gently pooling around his feet. It’s as though he’s overflowing with some kind of energy and it’s draining out of every pore, and it’s almost as if you can  _ see _ it, see it lapping at your toes, see it absorb into the earth, feel the ground singing with life. “You’re very perceptive, aren’t you?” He asks instead of answering. 

 

“I don’t- what do you mean?” You stammer, understandably distracted by the sudden burst of seeds the ground apparently has taken.You can feel the grass gently push its way up out of the stony ground.

 

“I mean that you have sight.” Loki reaches for you face, his thumb aglow, the swirls and twists of the flesh visible. He touches your forehead, and you don’t do anything to resist because all of a sudden you feel relaxed, more relaxed than you’ve ever been. And yes, you do see, you  _ feel _ what he’s talking about, and you can taste the life around you. The trees burn with their billions of cells, each leaf it’s own unique, breathing color, and the  _ stars, _ my gods, you can hear them  _ singing _ -

 

He removes his finger from your forehead, and the wilderness is thunderously silent. You stare at him, not sure if you should be terrified, fascinated, or violated somehow. So you go to your default emotion; emergency shutdown.

 

“Someone’s been poisoning you,” He says as though that’s explanation enough, and staggers to his feet. You stand as well, expecting him to faint into the nearby cactus bush but he seems to have recovered remarkably. 

“Someone has not been poisoning me.” You state firmly, crossing your arms. Well, then you uncrossed your arms because the ‘someone’ he’s talking about is you and your own self destructive behavior. Oh, yeah, when you put it that way, you’re definitely poisoning yourself. 

 

But he turns to look at you again, and you know that you’re most certainly going to see his face expression when he does that in the future because you have a creeping feeling that this is going to be a recurring thing he does. 

 

“Um, I guess I’ll show you to my house?” What else are you supposed to do? Leave him out here for the coyotes? He seems harmless enough, well, besides potentially being an alien and throwing up something that definitely should not have been in a person’s stomach, but what else? Your house is the only one for miles, and it’s likely he’ll just find it anyway. Imagine having  _ that  _ conversation with Gram. 

 

“If you would be so inclined.” He agrees, then gestures for you to lead the way. 

 

Walking back is easier than wandering aimlessly. You easily spot your familiar trail and head that down, considerably less dangerous than climbing up and down the rocky slopes. You see your house’s faint lights up again, the flickering from the living window a telltale sign that the TV’s still on, so, if you desire, you could sneak Loki upstairs without anyone noticing.

 

Although the ramifications of that are obvious, so you decide that it’s best to be upfront with this situation. Well, not absolutely upfront, seeing as how running your mouth about glowing runes and radioactive puke would have Gram and Grampa shaking their heads and asking your therapist if there’s some other kind of anti-whatever you can take. 

 

So you show Loki in through the front door, making as much noise as possible to announce that there is no sneaking involved in this situation. “Hello?” You call in the kitchen, hoping Gram is still up and doing something and you don’t have to wake up Grampa to deal with this. Not that Grampa is especially mean or anything it’s just that, well, he sleeps deader than the dead. 

 

“I’m in here, dear!” Grams calls. 

 

You make sure Loki wipes his footwear before walking in, leading him into the kitchen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! Sorry that the first chapter was so short. I hope to get the plot of this baby rolling soon, so please sit back and enjoy! Feel free to comment for suggestions.


	3. And I Guess He Stays, Then?

It takes Gram two seconds to notice him standing next to you. 

 

“And what is this?” She asks, her tone stern but mostly surprised. You take a moment to revel in the fact that he is not a hallucination your addled brain cooked up, but is very real, visible, and smudging dirt on the wall he brushes up against. 

 

“This is Loki, Gram,” You’re good at coming up with stories on the fly, explaining away your bimonthly psychosis episodes to avoid going to the therapist more than you already have to. You start with: “Don’t get mad, but, um, I went out for a walk around the trails.”

 

The disappointment in her eyes is physically painful, “You know Grampa and I tell you to stay off the trails at night for your safety.” 

 

“I know! I’m sorry, I had to get some fresh air. I was suffocating and hot and itchy, I think I had an allergic reaction to the pills I got yesterday,” You don’t play this card often, but when you do, whatever negativity instantly dissolves into concern for you health. Gram falls for your excuse, which isn’t 100% false since you do have legs dotted with gnat bites. And gnat bites itch. And they were itching a few hours earlier. She walks over and cups your face, checking your eyes for dilation and then your skin for hives. 

 

“You’re epi-pen in still in your room, right?” She asks, holding up your arm and pinching your fingers, testing for blood flow. 

 

“Yes, Gram,” You confirm, trying not to get annoyed with how much she coddles you. After all, it's your partial lie that got you into this situation. After Gram is certain that you are acceptably fine, she turns to her guest. 

 

“Sorry, dear, but my sweet girl here is a little bit on the sickly side. Just want to make sure she’s not catching anything.” She eyes him with some suspicion, and you don’t blame her. He does look awfully strange in his green and black leather tunic and black pants. His hair is short and must have been slicked back at some point, but stray hairs have made their way around his face. He’s covered in what appears to be eight layers of dust, his emerald green eyes the only vibrant color left on his body. 

 

“I found him on the trails,” Best to stick close to the truth as posible, best way to remember your story and him not to mess anything up, “He can’t remember anything.” When Gram’s back turns to look him over again, you shoot Loki a warning glare. He does his best to look like an amnesiac. 

 

“I remember my name,” He says slowly, as though he is saying it for the first time, “Loki.” 

 

“Loki.” Your grandmother repeats, already making some tea for the three of you, “Is there anything else you can remember?” 

 

“Well, a light,” He notices your glare and gives you a reassuring smile, “A bright light. And voices. But I can’t remember what they were saying. Oh,” He exclaims like he just remembered, “Also fire.”

 

“That’s… not exactly helpful.” Gram says slowly, getting two pieces of leftover pie from dinner and setting it onto plates, “But I suppose I can’t be angry at you for not knowing something.” She glances at you, just briefly, and set the dessert down on the table. “The two of you go ahead and dig in. I’m going to go tell Grampa about this.” 

 

“Have fun waking him up,” You say, picking at the piecrust. You watch Loki take the smallest of bites on his fork, and tap it on his tongue as though testing for poison. His eyes light up and before you can blink his piece is gone. Your appetite has fluttered away, anyway, so you switch your plates so that Gram thinks you’ve eaten and observe him inhale your pie just as easily as his. 

 

Something moves outside of the window. The wind whistles ominously, murmuring warnings of danger. A coyote howls.You eye the small orchard in the front yard warily. It’s too dark to see what’s weaving through the apple trees, and for that you are thankful. When you turn back to Loki he’s staring out the window as well, his mouth in a thin line.

 

Gram returns a moment later with Grampa in tow. With them standing together, they look like the stereotypical old couple that owns a farm. Grampa is late into his sixties, but shows no desire to retire from working the melon fields. His face is well wrinkled from the sun, his hair almost completely white and cropped short to his head. He always wears caps, even to sleep. They all say something smartass or funny on the front, and tonight’s cap is his blue one that claims the wearer is a ‘ _ lean, mean, eating machine _ ’. He’s technically deaf, but wears those high powered Stark hearing aids that do some sort of dark magic to make his hearing sharp as a bat’s.

 

“Hello, Appleberry, what do we have here?” Grampa asks, using your nickname. He looks over Loki, using his sixth grandpa-sense to see any trouble.

 

“I found him. Also, I’m keeping him.” Whatever’s outside is either too still to see or has disappeared completely. In either case, you are wary.

 

 The exact specifics of Loki’s stay takes an hour of serious discussions, a lot of pleading on your part, but every time Loki speaks, your grandparents listen. He uses that voice, that special voice from when you first heard him speak. It leaves them at ease, though he never actually reassures them. 

 

Why do you feel at ease around him? Come to think of it….

 

“So you can sleep in the guest room. Appleberry can show you around and introduce you to the chores tomorrow. I’m sure she’s very excited to have you.” Gram smiles, two big dimples on either cheek. That’s the smile she uses when she’s not actually happy. 

 

Loki smiles back at her, then at you. His smile changes subtly when the two of you make eye contact. More mischievous than when he smiles at Gram. Perhaps you are worried. But perhaps you are not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I loooooove the midwest gothic aesthetic, and with the reader being a psychic, I think the narration is so much better with those twisty though processes and ominous tones. Let me know what you think in the comments!


	4. Um, Not With the Horses Please.

At night, the whistle of the train wakes you from your ridiculously light sleep. The whistle is close, closer than you would like a train whistle to be. It’s been plaguing you since you first moved in with your grandparents, though when you went looking for the track, it was nowhere to be seen.  _ Where’s the train track _ , you asked Gram,  _ I can’t find it. _ That only earned you nervous looks from your grandparents, and they spent an extra ten minutes alone with your therapist the following week.  _ There is no track for miles. There is no night train that whistles. It’s all in your head.  _

 

 The train shrieks again. The house rattles. You pull the covers over your head and try to ignore it. 

 

 Morning comes. You are more tired than usual, so as always, you drown the desire for sleep in coffee. Loki is already sitting at the table with a mug of tea Gram probably made him, a cup of coffee ready to drink on a placemat. You settle on the chair in front of him, the two of you wordlessly sizing each other up. He’s cleaned up nicely. His skin was scrubbed to the point of almost peeling off. His hair is glossy and inhumanely perfect. Those clothes are some of Grampa’s from back in the seventies, horribly outdated but fit him surprisingly well. It’s almost as though Loki took a needle and thread and adjusted them in the night. 

 

“Good morning.” He speaks first, and you consider than a victory. 

 

“Morning.” You respond, trying to figure out which part of the night was real and which was fake. You’re aching for some whiskey, but you decide to just dump an abnormally large amount of vanilla in your coffee instead. You take a sip and relish the added bitterness of the vodka. 

 

“Your grandmother asked me to tell you that it’s your job to show me how to do the chores since it was your idea to let me stay.” He’s smiling at you. His eyes are strange.

 

Your cat walks over and hisses at him, weaving around your legs and giving you small sandpaper kisses. You scratch the back of his neck and take a sip of your vodka-flavoured coffee, “I suppose we can go out after breakfast.” You say, giving one last pat on Albert’s head before walking over to the cabinets to fetch cereal. Albert follows, putting himself between you and your green-eyed guest. 

 

“Do you want raisin bran or cheerios?” You ask, getting out two bowls and spoons.

 

“You pick.” He dodges easily. 

 

So you pour two bowls of cheerios for the both of you. Once the two of you finish, you set the bowls in the sink. You gesture for Loki to follow you as you exit through creaky screen door. Albert eyes Loki warily, close at your heels as you go outside. It’s damp outside, the sky looking ready to rain. It hasn’t rained, but it’s always close to raining. Mist has been the only moisture the farm has gotten all spring, and sometimes it’s so thick it feels like soup. 

 

 You and Loki walk through the orchard, a shortcut you take to get to the barn. Something chitters in the trees. It’s not a squirrel. You ignore it, and hope Loki does the same. The apple trees do not appreciate your stares. 

 

The barn you take him to is brand new. The old one is rotting somewhere by the melon field, probably infested with something that you wouldn’t want to see. Old things are always infested with things people don’t want to see. 

 

You open the door to the barn all the way, so that you can lead the horses out to the fields. You have two horses, Pancake and Lois. Both of them turn to you as you enter with Loki right behind you. They whiney and poke their heads out of their areas as you pass, Loki stopping and taking a moment to pat them each on the nose. Odd. 

 

“Pancake and Lois don’t always like the stable boys,” You verbalize your thoughts, crossing your arms and watching Loki coo something to Pancake. Pancake snorts softly and nuzzles his hand. 

 

“I have a…  _ way _ with horses.” Loki responds, his emphasis on ‘way’ making you slightly uncomfortable for some reason. Pancake makes a sound that’s almost like a laugh. 

 

“Okay, well, my chore is to get the stables cleaned out, and to check the water and let the horses out to the fields.” You open the door to Lois’s stable, taking the bridle and slipping it on her head so you can lead her out to the fenced off field. Loki opens the door to Pancake’s stable before you can protest, and simply leads her towards you without the bridle. This was strange because though you may be able to convince Lois to follow you without any tugging, Pancake is a diva and doesn’t appreciate being told what to do. But Pancake is following Loki as though he’s the Horse Jesus. 

 

You open the gate to the horse field and take off Lois’ bridle, giving her rump a loving pat as she trots off into the hazy mist. Pancake simply follows, no bribing, no tugging. Once the gate is closed, you turn to Loki and gesture to Pancake skipping around in the grass. Albert bolts after them.

 

“She just wants someone to listen to her problems.” He states defensively. 

 

This must be what people feel when they talk to you. So you don’t say anything in response as you walk back to the barn. Loki pesters you with questions the entire way. “Why is their field fenced off?” 

 

“To keep things out.” You say in a clipped tone, getting the shovel from the closet. 

 

“What kind of things?” He asks sweetly, looking around the barn like a city kid who’s never done a pound of heavy work before. You slip on your rainboots and gesture Loki to use a pair one of the stable hands left when they quit. He puts them on as you get out two shovels. You hand him one and walk over to get the fresh hay. 

 

“Coyotes.” You look over your shoulder at him, “And other things.” 

 

“What other things?” Loki’s happy go lucky attitude fades into seriousness when he asks that question. You shrug, not wanting to go into specifics, especially since you aren’t sure if those things you see are entirely real. 

 

You show him how to muck out the stables. It takes him twice as long as you, though you notice that he is definitely not lacking on strength. His body doesn’t seem like it has a lot of muscle underneath that shirt, but you suppose looks can be deceiving. You try to help him get his technique down. 

 

Once that’s done, you show him how to make Lois and Pancake’s breakfast and how to check the water windmill for any leaks in the pump. While you pull and push at the faucet, you feel something out beyond the fence looking at you. Lois stamps her feet and brays, and when you look back, nothing is there. “We’re done here. Let’s go back inside,” You say, looking over your shoulder again to make sure nothing is following you. 

 

“Can we see the rest of the land first?” Loki asks, oblivious to the danger the two of you might be in. 

 

“I don’t- I mean, it might not be-” Every time you try to verbalize why you always feel jittery and nervous, you always sound stupid.  _ The voices follow me _ , you said once. Everyone stared at you.  _ Are you feeling okay?  _ Someone who mustered up concern asked. 

 

“Why not?” Loki gestures out to the melon fields, “I need to know how to help out. Your grandfather wants me looking at those crops tomorrow.” 

 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart. It doesn’t help. You hair stands on end at the thought of going into the melon fields, but  _ this is all in your head, this is all in your head, this is all in your head _ . You can do this. 

 

“Okay.” You agree, walking over to the fields where the whispers are. 


	5. Ghost Girls and Other Farm Hazards

The melon fields themselves aren’t scary. The melons aren’t the ones who plague you with soft murmurs and play in the corner of your eyes. No, there’s something else. 

 

You walk closer to Loki, only now noticing his slight limp. “Are you okay?” You ask, trying to get your mind off of the surrounding fields. 

 

He winces as though mentioning it accents the pain more. “I’m fi-” his voice cuts off. He tries again, “I am… I am fi… n…” He chokes, as though something is stopping him. Your pace comes to a halt. 

 

“I am... acceptable.” He manages to croak out. His voice sounds raw, a tiny trickle of blood dripping from the side of his mouth. You gesture to it and he wipes it away angrily, refusing to meet your eyes. 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back inside?” You say, in a last ditch effort to escape going into the field. 

 

“Let’s go.” Loki responds firmly. 

 

The fog fades as the sun rises up into the sky, leaving only a layer of mist ankle deep. The air is still cool with the last dying breaths of winter. This morning is breeze not from the direction of the cow farm, your nose very thankful for the mercifully fresh oxygen that fills your lungs. You do your best not to hyperventilate as you enter the melon fields. 

 

The melons stalks from last harvest are rotting on the ground. Loki is probably going to help Grampa plant the seeds and secure the sprouts tomorrow. 

 

Something jitters in the corner of your eye. A child’s laughter, soft and joyful, tickles your ears.  _ She’s here, and she wants to play. _ You know that ignoring her will only go so far, she doesn’t like it when you pretend to not see her. Even if she is just a figment of your overly active imagination.

 

“Planting isn’t hard, um, as long as you’re back is in good shape. If it gets too achy, I suggest yoga.” Ghost pains in your back tingle with the memory of the harvest you helped with. It’s not easy work, and it’s most definitely not something anyone would enjoy doing. You continue going through the list of duties he’ll have to help perform. You can’t remember how long you’ve been walking but you are suddenly very aware that you’re in the center of the field. Just beyond Loki is a girl, her dress a soft pastel pink and stained with blood. Her neck is at an odd angle, her grin too big for her face. 

 

_ I missed you, _ she says, _ why don’t you come play with me anymore?  _

 

Your voice falters, but you try your best to carry on as though she’s not there. Because she’s not, obviously.  _ All in your head, all in your head.  _

 

Loki winces at your description at the physical labor involved, reminding you again that he’s probably injured. You once again insist, “I would at least like to take a look at your back before you begin.” 

 

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”  He doesn’t want to budge on the subject. 

 

“Look,” Arguing with him at least gives you something else to think about than the giggling little girl just a few feet away. When did she get so close? 

 

“Look.” You say, more firm, “If you aren’t in good shape when you start working, you could put other people and yourself in danger. You’re going to be working with equipment, and if there’s an accident or something and you can’t get out of the way in time, that’s on Gramps. And me. So we are going to march right back to the house and I am going to look at your back.” 

 

_ You can’t leave me! _ The girl is close enough to touch. Her eyes are black and her hair is ragged. She’s clutching a teddy bear with both arms, only now that you look closely it’s not really a bear. It’s more of a… dead squirrel? 

 

Loki turns to see where you’re looking. He doesn't say anything, and for a second you fear that he, like everyone else, will try to avoid you from now on as though you’re contagious. He looks at you again, and then back in the direction of the little girl. “You know what, you’re right,” He nods as though you’ve convinced him, something about his tone says that you didn’t, though, “Let’s go back to your house.” 

 

She sniffs. Even though she can’t possibly be real, guilt twists your chest. She’s just lonely. You mouth the words  _ I’m sorry _ and follow Loki as he carefully walks back the the house. You can hear her wails follow you even when you leave the melon field. You cringe, knowing the girl’s sobs attract the other things. Other things you are never emotionally prepared to deal with and thus would like to avoid. 

 

You try to get Loki to walk more briskly, black shapes beginning to take form and dart around your vision. You try to breath normal. You try not to let these things bother you.  _ Not real. Not real. Not real.  _ That mantra does nothing to stop the queasy feeling in your stomach, or the sick shakes in your fingertips. Loki takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

 

You enter your house, panting, the air not coming in your lungs fast enough. White splotches your vision, and you can do nothing but gasp and wheeze and choke, fear bursting through every vein. Tears fill your eyes but do not fall.  _ All in your head. All in your head. All in your head. _ The voice that whispers that is mocking, laughing.  _ All in your pathetic, stupid little brain. _

 

When your vision clears, you’re sitting on the floor, Loki kneeling beside you. He’s still holding your hand, his fingertips a splotchy red from your death grip. His other hand is cradling your head, probably keeping you from banging it against the wall in your panic. The two of you stare at each other. His eyes are too green, you decide, too pure a green to be human. But they’re also full of concern, not fear, not disgust. 

 

“I’m sorry.” You say shakily, trying to straighten your back. Your head feels like it’s full of sand, spilling out from your ears and slowly clearing out. Loki helps you to your feet.

 

“Don’t apologise.” Loki sits you on the chair in the kitchen, then checks the screen door to make sure it's firmly shut. Then, to your surprise, he starts making you tea. He curses at the microwave as he presses a few buttons, before finding the one that makes it work. He self consciously glances back at you while the water is heating. 

 

“All microwaves are different. Like showers.” You weave your fingers together over and over, trying different configurations. It helps you relax after panic attacks. Something invisible taps on the door, politely asking to be let in. You ignore it and hope it goes away. 

 

“Right.” He agrees, slightly confused. “Right.” He pulls the mug out once the microwave beeps and puts a bag of chamomile into the water, setting the mug in front of you. The tapping continues, more insistent.  _ Let me in. _

 

“Thank you,” You give him a watery smile, not daring to look behind you at what’s tapping on the screen door. 

 

Suddenly, a loud screech explodes in your ears, scratching, hissing, banging. Then silence. Albert comes in through the kitty door a moment later, looking thoroughly proud of himself. He hops from Loki’s chair up to the table, butting your hand lovingly. 

 

“That… cat really likes you.” Loki observes, sitting down and glancing between the two of you. Albert meows at him as you scratch his ears. 

 

“I picked him as a kitten, back before…”  _ Before you went crazy, _ “Before I came to live here.” 

 

“I see. Very loyal creature.” Loki nods, “Does the name Albert mean anything?”

 

He’s trying to get your mind off things, for that you are grateful. “Yes, actually. Albert is named after Albert Einstein, one of the greatest scientists of all time.” Albert mews his agreement as though the compliment is for him, giving your fingers tiny licks. 

 

Your sentence goes over Loki’s head again, you can see his eyes glaze over slightly as he files that information away. You drain your mug, flushing as the warm liquid fills your stomach. You wait just a moment for you to mentally build up your walls again, then stand up to get the first aid kit Gram keeps in the kitchen.

 

“Alright, take off your shirt.” You say firmly, opening the small case. 


	6. Maybe Get That Looked at by a Medical Professional?

“We’re moving a little fast, aren’t we.” His smile hides his reservations. You frown at him, glad for an argument to take your mind off of what had just happened. 

 

“I’m First Aid Certified.” You reassure him, rearranging the antiseptic cotton wads to give your hands something to do. 

 

“Your grandparents-”

 

“Won’t be home for a few more hours, at least. Gram helps out with the monthly blood drives, and Grampa is working in the Rodriguez’ corn farm until late afternoon. Shirt. Off.”

 

You both glare at each other. He slowly, painfully peels the shirt from his body. You suck in your breath as he turns, his back,  _ oh my god _ . You close your eyes for a second, then open them. This is fine. You’ve seen worse things. You’ve been through worse things. You can do this. 

 

“Is it truly that bad?” Loki asks, not turning around to face you.

 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” You manage to squeak out, absolutely doubting your skill for this. 

 

You go to the cabinet and dig out some aloe vera skin relief, and get to work. His back is a mess, deep gashes carved into his flesh, all in a geometric pattern that have some sort of purpose. You could feel it, the soft buzz of power that fizzes from the wounds. You take a wipe and start cleaning the skin. He hisses with pain, causing you to hesitate, but you continue. If you don’t clean them he’ll get an infection, and that would be the worst to take care of. Blisters dot areas around the cuts, making you think the knife was white hot when it cut through his skin. Probably the only thing that kept him from bleeding out. 

 

“Who did this to you?” You ask, trying your best not to balk as you throw away a pus covered wipe. You get out another one and continue to clean the skin. The cuts don’t look deep enough to merit stitches, it’s mostly the burns that you are worries about. 

 

Loki laughs dryly. “Some would say I did this to myself.”

 

You don’t ask again. Gently as possible, you rub some antibacterial burn cream onto the gashes and the skin surrounding it, wincing at the pain you feel from his hissing. You get out gauze and tape and start bandaging the section you cleaned. Then you get more wipes and clean more of the skin. Rinse and repeat. 

 

You burn through the entire first aid kit before you get halfway through and end up using a damp rag and boiled water. The entire time you work, Loki says nothing. His fingers grip the edge of the table. Albert sits on the counter and watches you with a critical eye. Finally, you manage to wipe and bandage all the damaged skin. You step back, admiring your work and taking a few seconds to pick and nudge at anything that could be slightly off. 

 

“Okay. It’s good, for now.” You hand him his shirt, wanting to help him put it back on but feeling like that would cross some sort of line. Putting it back is a process, his features twisting with pain. You can only imagine him having to pull his clothes off and showering on his own the night before. 

 

He smoothes the fabric just right in time, you can hear Grampa’s cranky old truck rolling up. 

 

“Appleberry!” Your grandfather exclaims as he walks in through the living room hall, “Just the person I wanted to see. Did you give our new boy the rundown?” 

 

“She did. Grea- uh, green place you have here,” Loki smoothly changes his thought mid-sentence, reminding you of his stammering from earlier this morning. 

 

“Only because of all this mist. Some people out here would kill for some actual rain, especially some of the soy farmers up north.” Grampa’s eye twinkle, “Any of you want to volunteer as a sacrifice?” He chuckles to himself.

 

Neither Loki or you laugh. Loki’s emerald eyes glance over to you to gauge your reaction. Did he think that Grampa would actually sacrifice someone to some old forgotten god? You force yourself to laugh half-heartedly to show him that the comment is just some innocent fun. 

 

“Well, I’m hungry. What about you kids? Sandwitches are the only thing on the menu right now, so let’s get the stuff out now before Gram gets here.” Soon Gram arrives and the four of you have lunch, Loki even volunteering to help Gram with dishes so you can go upstairs to work on homework. 

 

You’ve been mostly homeschooled since you got here. After an episode that involved sobbing gibberish in the corner of the girl’s locker room after phys. ed., the school principal, psychologist, and the entire PTA board all thought it was best if you didn’t ever return except for standardized testing. Cheryl, the leader of the PTA board, strongly suggested that your grandparents ‘take that devil girl to the priest to cleanse her of her impurities’. Gram sweetly responded that Cheryl’s the one who should see a priest, especially since she’s been spending an awfully long time with the school’s-

 

Cheryl stopped Gram right there, her face as red as her lipstick.

 

But they were right. Though you’re better at pretending that your meds work 100% and not only 35% on a good day, a classroom environment is still probably too big a step for you. Normally you just plug in your earbuds and let the music drown the hisses and whispers. Speaking of which.... 

 

Where the fuck is your phone? Maybe you left it downstairs. Did you even have it today? You can’t remember where you put it. Digging around your drawers, you find your old iPod Nano and sigh. You’ll use it for now. You settle down on your desk and open an AP science textbook.

 

Physics. Physics, physics, physics, physics, physics. Numbers and letters and exceptions and gravity. Calculations run through your brain, your pencil scribbles chicken scratch answers as you plug in the numbers and test your answers against formulas. 

 

Fast track to getting into college, your online tutors say. A scholarship even, if you can manage to sit through the entirety of a PSAT. You bite your lip down, hard, so despair won’t blur your vision. If only they would make special exceptions for wearing earbuds, then you might not feel as stressed about it. You wouldn’t have to listen to the whispers. 

 

You look over to the water bottle on your shelf. Except it’s not filled with water. For times like this when you feel as though you’re going to throw up from academic stress, you don’t pop a lorazepam. You go straight for the booze. To be fair, you don’t think any of your depression, anxiety, or paranoia medications actually work. Sometimes after you take your schizophrenia cocktail, you feel three times as worse than before and often time just vomit it right back up. The alcohol may not actually try to even out your brain chemistry, but at least it shuts everything down. You take a couple of swigs, then get back to work. 

 

Someone knocks loud enough on your door to hear through your music. You pop off your earbuds and shout “Come in!”

 

It’s Loki, carrying another mug of tea for you. “It’s evening. Your grandparents told me you are studying the placement of the stars and planets.” 

 

“Astronomy.” You supply gesturing to your work. Signs and numbers cover the page, uneven and raged and some of them sideways when you ran out of room on the paper. Loki glances at it, blanching. 

 

“I’ll leave the sciences to you, then.” He declares, setting the steaming cup down on your desk, “You appear to be performing marvelously.” 

 

You blush, “90% perspiration.” You look at the clock, then notice how horribly dark it almost is. Which reminds you of last night, was it really last night?- when you went out to find Loki, with your phone-

 

“My phONE!” You stand up suddenly, remembering where you last saw it. Oh, god, out in the country exposed to the elements. All by itself. The audio jack and charging port were probably clogged with condensation by now, you had to go find it, find it before it gets too late to save it.

 

“Your… what?” Loki asks, startled back by your sudden outburst. 

 

“My phone, the thing I had with me last night, I left it where I found you. I need it.” You’re slipping on something warmer, grabbing a pair of socks. Remembering how cold it was last night, you make sure to grab a pair of boots. Your fingertips feel warm and extra nimble from the booze. 

 

“You shouldn’t go outside now. You shouldn’t have gone outside last night,”  Loki protests, his eyes flickering out your window to the dying sun.

 

“Well, I found you.” You give him a slight smile as you zip up your boots and stand, “It’s not all bad out there.” 

 

He blinks at you, surprise rippling through his features. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t say  _ that- _ ”

 

“Then come out and protect me.” You hold out your hand, feeling a flash of deja vu from the night before. Loki’s mouth twitches and he places his fingers firmly into yours. 

  
“Fine. Fine. I’ll do my best,  _ Appleberry. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to write encouraging comments! I'm really glad to see people are enjoying this, I was very excited to write on this story and also nervous about its reception.


	7. The Squirrel Needs to Stop.

You go downstairs, Loki on your heels. 

 

“Gram! I’m going to show Loki how to bring Pancake and Lois back to the stables.” You call, wrapping your scarf around your neck and bolting out the door before Gram gets a chance to respond. You walk towards the stables, everything pleasantly hazy from your vodka, then make a sharp left once you’re sure your grandparents can’t see you.

 

“Do you remember where I found you?” You ask, trying to drag up the memories of which trails to take and when to deviate from them. The riverbed, you faintly remember walking through the dry riverbed.

 

“In this direction, I believe. However you must remember that I was rather incapacitated at the time,” Loki grabs your hand to prevent you from stepping on a cactus, frowning at your behavior. 

 

“Right. Right,” You nod and smile, taking his hand and pulling him towards the dried up corpse of the river. There aren’t any cacti growing in the riverbed, maybe it has to do with the ominous rumbling you feel between your toes whenever you walk through it. You only have to watch for the rocks dotting throughout the cracking dirt. 

 

He’s quiet as he follows you, when you turn to look at him his eyes are widely flickering around as though he’s carefully watching for something. You fingers fold into Loki’s, his grip on you strong, almost like he’s prepared to jerk you out of harm’s way at a moment’s notice. 

 

You can see where he landed just up ahead, because it’s flickering with energy. Soft wisps of light steam up from the ground, moving in the gentle breeze and eventually dissipating overhead. You watch, breathless, unsure of what to expect when you look over the side the crater. Loki grips your hand tighter. 

 

You peak over the side. A tree is growing in the center, where Loki had landed. You know that all plants are alive, but this one is just… thrumming with power. You can hear its life as it sings to the heavens, a song old and forgotten by the people of Earth. It’s leaves are too healthy a color, most other trees brittle and still hibernating from the clinging winter. You look closer and see the faint shine of light being reflected off of your phone

 

You let go of Loki’s hand and slide down the side of the crater before he can protest. The song of the tree is stronger down here, you can hear it harmonizing with the soil and the sky. The hint of an earthquake shakes your bones, and you can hear the voice of something ancient in the woods.  _ Nidhug says that your brain is as small as your ego is large. _

 

“What?” You frown at the tree. 

 

_ Nidhug wants to know what makes you think you’re capable of any responsibilities, _ the voice continues, the sound a grotesque hissing,  _ Nidhug thinks you can’t do anything right. There will come a day when he finally kills you. _

 

“Don’t talk to it.” Loki slides down next to you and has your arm in a death grip, “Get your device and climb back up,” 

 

“That motherfucker needs to be put back in his place.” You bark at him, trying to shake loose from Loki’s grasp but failing. He most certainly is stronger than he looks. Much, much stronger. You’ve been able to kick off three healthy adults in one of your episodes before, but you have little doubt Loki could pin you down within seconds if he wants. 

 

“That.. er, ‘motherfucker’ is not speaking to you.” Loki bends down and retrieves your phone when you don’t make a move to get it yourself, “He’s talking to the Eagle.” Your phone has a small crack in the corner of the screen, green mist pouring out of it. Loki shakes it, the mist pouring out faster until there was none left, and continues, “We should go. We have your device, come on.” 

 

“But-” An ear-splitting roar shakes the ground. You wobble, falling back in Loki’s arms. He seems to have been ready for this, his legs firmly in place. The rumbling stops. “Actually, leaving is a good idea.” 

 

The two of you scramble up the side of the crater and run to the horse’s fields. Pancake is waiting for you at the gate, snorting indignantly. Lois trots over and joins her.

 

Loki turns to you, holding your face in his hands, studying your eyes. “You’re drunk.” He mutters, looking over his shoulder towards the empty melon fields. 

 

“No.” You contradict stubbornly, though that is obviously a lie. You are totally drunk. 

 

 He shakes his head and glances over his shoulder again, “Show me the procedures for the horses. You have your device back.” 

 

So you do. He leads both Lois and Pancake without their bridles into their stable, and you show him how to give them their evening meal. He checks on the water pump like you instructed earlier in the day and makes sure the hay trough is full. He gives Pancake another pat and walks you back to the house. 

 

“You two were sure gone awhile.” Gram says in her offhand way that makes it seem like she’s not suspicious of your activities even though she really is. She looks at your clothes to check for telltale signs of ‘hay rolling’ as she calls it. 

 

“Pancake was acting up again.” You lie, helping her move dinner from the kitchen to the dining room. Loki watches you closely, looking like he’s taking everything in for future reference. The way you set the silverway out, the plates you use, the placement of the napkins and cups, the way you bend over to move the centerpiece…

 

You turn away so he can’t see your face turn red.  _ It’s the alcohol,  _ you tell yourself. Nothing’s happening. 

 

 The four of you eat dinner. Grampa asks Loki if he’s ready for some hardy man’s work tomorrow. Loki self consciously looks over at you before answering that he is. He looks almost green when he says that. Flashes of those marks on his back swim in your vision, but you don’t say anything. What did the shape mean? Did his perpetrator just really have a thing for slashing their victims stylishly? No, there has to be a reason for it. 

 

Dinner is over. You and Loki help Gram clean up, the two of you manning the sink. You wash and he dries while Gram puts everything away and sweeps the floor. It's a peaceful few minutes, and you feel like a normal girl again. The alcohol is slowly wearing off, you're in that perfect haze where you can think but not feel as much. You hand Loki another plate, which he rubs with a towel.  

 

“Thank you both for the help!” Gram beams, and you know that Loki is already building up some respectable points in your grandparents’ book. Gramps seems very excited to show Loki the ropes tomorrow. Gram is happy to have another hand to help out, especially since the last guy left and… the one before that…. The one before…

 

The smell of molten metal floods your nose. Red hot, just above your waist. Screaming.  _ Screaming. _ Blood and gunsmoke and nothing. 

 

Nothing.

 

The plate slips from your fingers and shatters on the floor. 


	8. That Cat Knows Stuff, Man. He Knows.

You wake up in the morning, eyes blurry and head swimming with unplaceable emotions. That feeling that you get when you’re being watched is retching in your gut, so much worse than usual. At first you think it’s because Albert is hanging out on your dresser, his yellow eyes ever watchful, but you know deep down that something else is causing that feeling. You are in your bed, so it takes a few minutes for you to remember what had happened the night before. Your grandparents, though they are amazing and deserve so much better than you, are never able to carry you to bed. You’re too heavy and often thrash in your fits, so they try to make you comfortable wherever you faint. So that leaves one person who is capable of that. 

 

Loki’s face swims in your vision. You can faintly recall strong arms gathering you and carrying you upstairs. You place your hands on your face.You hate people seeing you like that, shutting down and not being able to come out of your darkest places for hours at least. You roll over and go to your bathroom, hoping a shower will clear your mind and help you feel less like a garbage human. 

 

_ You are a garbage human. _

 

Albert follows closely behind, though you gently push him away as you shut the bathroom door. He scratches and meows to be let in, but you ignore him. You lock yourself in, opening the medicine cabinet and counting out four pills of various prescriptions.  _ Garbage human, garbage human. _ You pop them in your mouth and stare at the other bottles of failed chemicals that made everything worse instead of better.  _ Garbage human. _ It would be so easy to end this, open one of your bottles and downing all the contents. Everything feels silent, focused. Albert stops whining at the door, even some of your demons fall quiet, as though everything is holding its breath. No more whispers, no more monsters. You reach for the tylenol. 

 

“Are you in there?” It’s Loki, knocking on the door. Your hand jerks back as though the bottle burned it. 

 

“Yeah.” You close the cabinet and stare at yourself in the mirror. Dark bags under your eyes. You mouth in a permanent, grim line. Your hair sticks up on end in some places, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got some drool on the side of your chin.

 

_ Garbage human _ , a voice giggles. 

 

“I’m going into town with you and your grandmother today.” He says, his smooth, silky voice overpowering everything else.

 

Shit. He means to the psychiatric appointment. Why does he have to go too? You look down at the sink while you take in deep, deep breaths. “Sounds great,” You say, trying to muster up the forgotten ability to sound perky. Your voice is too high pitched, and you know Loki can sense your distress through the door. 

 

“I’ll be waiting downstairs for you.” He says, his footsteps receding down the hall. 

 

You stare at your reflection again, just for a moment, before stripping your clothes. A burn wound from a cattle brand marks the area just below your belly button. You’ve been saving your money to cover it up with a tattoo, but for that to happen, you would have to willingly show someone your scar. And that’s something you haven’t done since the doctors declared it fully healed. 

 

You step into the shower for the barest minimum time it takes for you to fully bathe yourself in an attempt to wash away your anxiety in the near boiling water. You step out, put on some clothes, and gear yourself to facing the day. 

 

Loki is sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, forgoing the couches that circle him. His eyes are glued to the TV, which is on Gram’s morning news talk show she listens to while making breakfast. The anchor is talking about a tsunami that hit Japan a few years ago and how the reconstruction of the towns are going a little slow due to ‘unforeseen events’. The footage cuts to a construction site that looks decimated, and in the background, you can see a splotchy black creature receding into the forest. 

 

“Earthquake.” The anchor says. You don’t believe them. 

 

Albert is hanging out next to Loki, which is surprising considering the previous treatment the two had been giving each other. Albert looks you up and down with those far too intelligent eyes, as though checking for wounds. He bumps into Loki before pattering out to the kitty door.  

 

You go into the kitchen and eat the bowl of oatmeal waiting for you on the table. Gram is washing a pan in the sink while you scarf down the oats. 

 

“I’m sorry about last night.” You mutter into your cup of coffee. 

 

Gram makes a clicking sound with her tongue, “We agreed that you don’t apologise for something that’s out of your control, sweet girl. None of this is your fault.” 

 

You stare at your food, your eyes misting up with wretched stabs of guilt gutting your stomach.  _ It’s not your fault, _ they say.  _ Not your fault _ . But it feels like it is. These people go out of their way to help you, they don’t deserve you or your fucking breakdowns. You eat quickly, then rinse your bowl out and place it in the dishwasher. 

 

“Loki already took care of Lois and Pancake.” Gram says absent mindedly, “All you have to do is feed Albert and we should be ready to go.” 

 

You go into the small cat area you made for Albert in the laundry room, right next to the cellar door. You clean out and refill his water bowl, give him more food, and check the litter box. Everything appears to be in order, and Albert flounces in as soon as he hears the sound of cat food hitting ceramics. You scratch his ears lovingly, trying to take as much time as possible so you don’t have to face the day.

 

“Time to go, Apple Pie!” Gram calls, jiggling her keys and grabbing your purse. You grudgingly put on your shoes and head outside. Loki is looking over to the horizon at the gray clouds that hover over the plains, his eyes narrow as though trying to figure out what exactly it is. You turn and stare too, and you can almost make out the shapes of… wolves. But not like when you’re on a car trip trying to quell boredom with picking out shapes in the white puffs you see on the highway, these are fluid. Moving. One turns to look at you.

 

“Let’s go.” Loki tugs at your sleeve and the two of you climb into the backseat of Gram’s small car. The drive to town is never pleasant, because you have to pass that godforsaken cow farm on the way there. The smell of manure fills the car for a good five minutes after you pass it, making you breathe through your mouth and not your nose. 

 

Technically, your grandparents live in Crowley, a town so tiny that no one has heard of it or actually cares. It’s a burnout from back in the fifties, when there used to be oil in the ground. The reserve wasn’t that big, and it was drained too fast for anyone to come up with different jobs in the meantime, the entire population either left or went bankrupt and stayed in poverty. Only the farms that had existed previously managed to pull through and survive, even hiring the fired employees from the oil craze. 

 

But since that town is super small and only has one gas station, a tiny chain grocery store, a clinic, three ridiculously small restaurants, and two churches from different denominations permanently in a passive aggressive war, you have to drive to the next town over for anything else. The next town over is fairly large, in fact most people say they live in Sugar Springs rather than explaining the latitude and longitude of their isolated village. 

 

Gram pulls up to a small office building with some decorative cacti growing in the front. The car comes to a stop.

 

“Alright-y, everyone out!” She says with forced cheerfulness. 

 


	9. The Appointment and the Other... Thing

No one looks forward to these appointments. 

 

At first, your grandparents were certain that after a few visits with Doctor Leonard Samson, you would be cured of whatever is causing your fits and all would be well, but by now the visits are nothing more than a government demanded ornament to make everyone else around you feel better. You don’t hate Doc Samson, he’s actually a pretty nice guy. You just don’t like what he represents; the empty promise of getting better. 

 

You walk into the office.  Mrs. Blakesley, the secretary, smiles at you as you walk in. Her smile is one of the only smiles in all the county that’s not faked for the sake of your grandparents. She’s a small but tough looking woman with cinnamon skin and perfectly coiled hair. You think she has children, but you can’t remember ever having that conversation with her. You think maybe Gram did at some point and you overheard. 

 

“Well good morning!”  Mrs. Blakesley says, opening a basket on her table and sliding a chocolate muffin over towards you. You take it gratefully and thank her, moving over to the waiting chairs and taking a bite. Loki comes in a second later with Gram, sitting down next to you while she signs you in.

 

“You want some?” You offer, pulling a chunk off for him. He stares at it, then you, and shakes his head. 

 

“Doctor Samson can see you now.” Mrs. Blakesley calls to you. 

 

“Right.” You take your muffin and walk over to the closed door opposite of the exit. Doctor Samson doesn’t have anyone else before or after your appointment. Actually, you don’t remember if he ever mentioned seeing another client besides you. Sure, he’s mentioned some people from when he lived in Oklahoma, then New York, but here? Weird-

 

“Good morning,” A man sitting behind a desk says to you, “And how are you today?” 

 

Doc Samson is very much out of place in this town. Apparently, he used to be a big shot physiatric doctor before a life threatening incident happened and he decided to move away from the city for a more quaint life. He has all sorts of crazy important awards, and your grandparents were really banking on him helping you. You give them fake smiles and do your best to fool them into thinking he is when he isn’t. It’s not Doc Samson’s fault, he’s actually pretty good for your depression and anxiety. But he’s not good for the visions and the whispers. And the hallucinations cause your anxiety, and your anxiety gives you depression. 

 

“Fine.” You say as you always do, sitting on the chair opposite of him and eating your muffin. 

 

“How has Pancake been treating you? Anymore incidents where she tries nipping you hand again?” He takes out a binder and starts writing something down. Not going to lie, Doc Samson is ripped. He is a huge hulking presence in the rom, you can feel the muscle pulsing under his skin. He could probably pull a jet plane across the ocean and then down a protein shake like it’s a part of his typical morning exercise. 

 

“No.” You rub your hand, remember the couple of times that Pancake decided to show how much she didn’t want to wear a bridle. 

 

“Good. So your grandmother called me last night and told me about your, well, latest episode.” He puts his binder away and folds his hands together, “Did something specific trigger it? Do you remember?”

 

“No.”

 

“I see you have a guest with you today. Your Gram says he helps around the farm. Did he have anything to do with your relapse?”

 

“ _ No _ .” You say firmly, glaring at him. Loki is the opposite of the problem. 

 

Doc Samson sighs, stands up, and walks over to a drawer, “Alright, let’s try a drawing game then. I say a word, and you draw the first thing on your mind.”

 

An hour and ten crudely drawn pictures of various… things later, you go back into the waiting room where Loki is engrossed in an issue of  _ Cosmo.  _ He looks mildly horrified as he turns the pages. 

 

“Alright, can I talk to you for a few minutes?” Doc Samson asks Gram, and the two of them disappear behind the door. 

 

You pull out your phone, which has been working, albei a little strangely since you retrieved it from the crater. You pitter around on tumblr until Gram comes out of the office, looking crestfallen but determined, as always. You hate this. 

 

“You know what? Let’s go the the diner and get some milkshakes.”  Gram says with fake cheerfulness. You see something is weighing on her mind, but you don’t feel like it’s your place to ask. 

 

The three of you pile up in her car and drive back to Crowley, going into the old 50s diner in the middle of town. It’s the typical family diner, outside shiny and sleek, the inside decorated with bright and eye bleeding colors. It’s surprisingly well kept, considering that it’s as old as the town itself. The waitress gives you the evil eye, but forces herself to smile when Gram looks up. You scan the rest of the patrons as you get led to your booth, Loki clinging to you but not touching. 

 

Something that looks like a cross between a moose and a gorilla sits in the booth across from you, deep in an intellectual conversation with a giant, pussing slug. The slug is a gross, fleshy creature that’s bleeding a clear pink liquid all over its seat and surrounding floor. The moose-gorilla turns and smiles at you. Its eyes are empty. You turn back to Gram and give her a weak grin and pretend to look over the menu. 

 

Loki sits next to you, looking over your shoulder and reading over the milkshake flavors. “Cake Shake.” He whispers, his eyes narrow, “That sounds fattening.” 

 

You hide your smile. “True. If that doesn’t appeal to you, I guess you can have plain old vanilla.” 

 

“There’s nothing wrong with vanilla.” Gram says, smiling but eyes flickering between the two of you. “I’m glad you both seem to be getting along.” 

 

“Your granddaughter is an intellectually gifted person and a pleasure to talk to.” Loki says, ever the smooth talker, turning to you, “You’ve been a wonderful help to me.”

 

You face turns red and you try to hide behind the menu, mumbling, “Thanks.” 

 

“And, since we’re in town, you’re sure you don’t want to stop by the police station, just to make sure no one’s looking for you? I’m sure they won’t mind taking a break from cow tippers to run a check through the system.” Gram offers, glancing over at you to gauge your reaction. You’re careful to school your features. So far, Loki has been the only one your age who’s decided not to treat you like the plague or an infant within the first few days of meeting you. He might very well be the only friend you’ve made in the past few, oh god, how long has it been? Feels like an eternity. 

 

“I don’t think anyone’s been looking for me.” Loki’s face turns grim for just a moment, before returning to his normal, charismatic self, “And I thank you for taking me in, ma’am. I will absolutely work my hardest to prove you didn’t make the wrong decision.” You feel a cool breeze run through the restaurant. Even the moose-gorilla and slug turn at his words. Everything sighs. 

 

Gram relaxes slightly. “Of course, of course.” She’s convinced again, for now. 

 

The waitress swings by ask writes down your orders. Loki and Gram both get plain vanilla milkshakes, while you opt for something that probably causes type two diabetes. The waitress goes to the back of your kitchen with your orders. Loki and Gram start talking about melons and the benefits of growing/eating them while you take a minute to observe everything else. 

 

You grimace at the face of a pinched PTA member that threatened to sue the school if you weren’t removed from the premises.  _ Candace _ . She’s in a heated discussion with a more relaxed PTA mom, one of the ones who sided with Gram on trying to help the school be more inclusive. Christa. The two are really going at it, actually. You hope whatever they’re discussing, Christa wins. You hate Candace and her stupid blond hair and her stupid fake voice. Finally, whatever Christa is saying to Candace has finally gotten to her, because Candace gets up and storms into the bathroom. She emerges a few minutes later, looking a little more under control.

 

“Hi, Candace!” You say as though you’ve just noticed her. You try to give her your best addlebrained smile. 

 

“Oh, you. I didn’t see you there.” Her voice is clearly uncomfortable in your presence, like she thinks she could catch whatever you have if she’s near you long enough. 

 

“Candace!” Gram exclaims, pretending to be nice because she’s in public, “Hello! What are you doing here?” 

 

Candace’s eyes flicker over Loki. With a sudden jolt, you realize that his nails were still painted black when you got in the car this morning. Fabulous, they’re going to burn him alive alongside you now. “Oh, just waiting for the other ladies. You know how Corene can be, she likes a place where she can… Eat.” She gives a sniff of distaste and walks back to her booth without saying goodbye.

 

 Glancing down, you realize Loki’s nails aren’t painted anymore. He must have rubbed them off sometime after he came and you never noticed. Or maybe they never were there at all, this wouldn't be the first time your brain made something up. 

 

The moose-gorilla sneezes. 

 

 “If I had known there was going to be a PTA meeting, I wouldn’t have taken you kids here.” Gram apologizes as another pale, blonde haired woman walks into the diner. She has a fake alligator purse. Cyndi. She pretends not to see you and makes a gives your table a wide berth as she passes 

 

“It’s okay, Gram. There’s nothing they can do to harm us unless it’s illegal.” Though you wouldn’t put it past some of these women, honestly. See a SAT tutor better than the one they have and they might murder/kidnap them. You wearily glance at Chastity as she walks in, arm in arm with Candy. Or was it Caroline? The names and faces blur together. One by one, the other PTA members flock in, chattering, hissing, some screeching. Or maybe your ears are playing tricks on you again. Loki observes the carnage with rapt interest. 

 

The waitress comes with your order and then runs over to the PTA meeting, lest the moms become too hungry, and then enraged, screaming and wailing to speak to the manager. You can only imagine the damage done by a mildly inconvenienced PTA mom. 

 

Since your drinks are in to-go cups already, Gram goes to the cashier to pay before the rest of the board arrives and the real violence begins. You and Loki go out and wait for her in the car,  then the three of you drive home, sipping on your milkshakes. 


	10. Space Deer Don't Give a Fuck

“What does PTA mean?” Loki asks you when you’re safely within the confines of your home. 

 

You shiver, “Parent Teacher Association. They monitor budgeting, teachers, and student resources.”  _ They accept human sacrifices every red moon _ , you joke to yourself humorlessly. Gram glances at the two of you, before heading into the living room to work on her quilting project. She can hear your every word, the dining room that you and Loki are settled in opens into the living room. You can hear a pin drop from that room. 

 

“For the... schooling.” Loki looks at you for confirmation.  

 

You nod, “For Crowley middle and elementary. There’s a joint high school for Sugar Springs and Crowley because there aren’t enough students in either of the towns to warrant two schools.” You take a sip of your milkshake.

 

“Your grandmother says that though you  _ legally _ could go to that school, you and your… therapist both decided it was best not to.” Loki takes a hesitant sip of his milkshake. His face twitches when the cold ice cream hits his tongue, but he appears to enjoy the taste. He takes another sip while you answer. 

 

“Well, yes, it’s a public school with government funding, so they are required by law to accept anyone within their student body, regardless of physical or mental health. But,” You poke at your straw, “It’s hard for me to focus in that kind of environment. It’s better that I do my work here.” Where you don’t have to worry about staring at one spot too long. Or filter out the voices of the students verses the voices of the  _ others. _

 

“Your grandparents wanted me to go with you to therapy today. They wanted me to understand that you,” He pauses, searching for the right word, “Aren’t in a mentally good place.” 

 

You’re hyper aware of Gram straining her ears to hear your conversation. You lower your voice slightly, “I’m not.” 

 

“And what happened last night, when you fainted. You were screaming something about a fire.” 

 

Black splotches your vision. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

 

“Then we won’t. But I want you to know that I’m here. If you need to…” His fingers brush against yours, then retract before you can blink, “I’m here.” 

 

You don’t look at him as you mumble, “Thanks.”

 

___

 

The next few days pass uneventfully. Loki helps Grampa with the melon fields. Grampa is amazed at how fast Loki can pick up information, “You tell him once. It doesn’t matter how long your lecture is, but you tell him once and show him once and he doesn’t have to be told again.” He shakes his head in amazement and takes a sip of beer. You and Gramps are sitting out in the porch, watching the sun sink in the misty plains. The sky is bathed in red, like a celestial battle of the gods has finished and the blood of their foes sinks down to Earth. You watch a drip of scarlet fall from the heavens. 

 

“He’s nice to me. Doesn’t treat me the way others do. Like a disease.” You wrinkle your nose. That’s the best way to describe how other people react to you, half of them think you’re contagious and the other half think you’re porcelain. 

 

Loki is forty five minutes out with Gram, at the nearest Costco, leaving you and Grampa alone for some quality grandparent/child time. That means the two of you sit out on the porch, you with a 5% apple cider and Grampa with a harder beer. He doesn’t mind you drinking as much as Gram would (if she knew), probably because he’s from the time and town where people took morphine and whiskey to cure their cough. 

 

“That’s good. That’s good.” Grampa’s eyes flicker over the fields, “He hasn’t given me any reason to be suspicious of his background.” 

 

Uh-oh. “But.” You prompt.

 

“But it’s strange, don’t you agree? You say you found him wandering the fields. The clothes he was in were strange, like nothing that anyone would wear here or even in the next few towns. And he says he can’t remember anything about the time before he came.”

 

That’s true. That is very true. You know better than to tell Grampa of exactly  _ how _ you found him, in a crater that grew a tree that speaks and sings. Oh, that may be the last straw. You can see yourself tied up in a mental hospital. 

 

“He doesn’t even want to go to the police, which makes me think he’s not being as forefront as he could be.” Grampa adds, looking at you for your reaction. 

 

“Maybe he’s in some sort of trouble, and we can help him by doing what we’re doing now; giving him a job and a roof over his head.” You offer, taking a sip of your cider.

 

“Maybe. But just promise me you’ll be careful around him.” Grampa asks, and you know he’s just being cautious for your sake. 

 

“Promise.” You nod, meaning it. There’s no reason for worry, you think, smiling. Loki isn’t something you should look out for. There’s something else out there. You can feel it thrumming in your bones. Something else to look out for. Your smile fades as you watch the creeping horizon. 

 

___

 

Loki’s back does not improve, but you can’t find any telltale signs of infection. While Grampa and Gram are out doing errands, you insist on looking at his wounds again. It’s been two weeks, so you would think that there would be some improvement. There has not been. 

 

He sits staring out the window. You aren’t sure what he sees, but you see a deer. A deer with a celestial black coat. It’s not just the color of the forgotten beginning of the universe, you think that deer is actually a part of the empty void manifesting itself in the orchard, munching on the corpse of a jackrabbit. Its fangs sink into the flesh of the rabbit, the rabbit suddenly coming back to life, thrashing, screaming, begging you for help. 

 

You and Loki both wince at the same time, and you know it’s not because of his injuries. Your entire body freezes, and you’re afraid to ask.  _ Do you see that? _ It would make so much sense, and yet no sense at all. You want to ask, but your lips are sealed shut with fear at being wrong, wrong, _ wrong. _ With shaking hands, you wipe away some of the pus oozing from his back.  _ Ask him before you lose the courage to _ , you think, you pray.

 

“L-loki.” You stammer quietly, the rabbit now silent and in the deer’s stomach, “Outside.” The safest route. If he sees, he’ll understand. If not, he’ll ask you to specify. 

 

“Yes,” He murmurs. Your entire body goes numb with both relief and shock.  _ Yes. Yes. _ If two people can see something, does that make both of you crazy or is it something else? You can’t share hallucinations, can you? 

 

“Don’t look into its eyes.” He warns, spinning around so he’s facing you. “Look at me.” His eyes are so much nicer to look at, that is true. The two of you are close, so close, you can taste his scent on your skin. You can’t place it, like it’s nothing this world could dream up on its own. It’s like memories and sacred rites and energy pulsing in the center of a star. 

 

“You can see it.” You breathe, trying not to burst into tears. 

 

“Not quite.” He checks over his shoulder to see if its gone. The absence of that thing is terrifying, you don’t know where it could have gone or who it could decide to consume next. The area of grass it was standing on is dead, deader than you’ve ever seen. Rotting ash trampled beneath its hooves. 

 

“What do you mean?” You’re shaking now, your arms so badly you have to put down the rag. Your lungs need air, your eyes see splotches. Loki’s hand touches your forehead. It’s blissfully cool, your mind feels a flood of calm at once. Your vision clears out and you’re sitting on the ground, next to him. 

 

“I can feel their presence. But I can not peer through their glamour. Not the way you can. You are,” He takes a deep breath, “Particularly perceptive. I’m jealous, really.” 

 

“Who are you?” You ask, running your hands through your hair. You feel shock pulsing through your body, the excitement of someone who can see what you see, and the blistering fear of what that could mean.You don’t notice that everything goes silent. 

 

He stares at his hands. They flicker blue, then back to their pale, fleshy tone. Your breath hitches and you resist the urge to scramble away from him. “ _ Who are you?”  _ You repeat, trying not to let fear overthrow your ability to think.  _ This is Loki. Loki. He holds your hand when you have panic attacks. He drinks coffee with you in the mornings. He helps you keep Pancake under control. This is your friend.  _

 

 His mouth is in a thin line, like he can sense your internal screaming.  _ Don’t leave me ever, _ you want to say but don’t because you’re scared, scared at what this could mean. 

 

He takes a deep breath, his expression softening to tenderness and defeat. He brushes a stray piece of hair from your eyes and says, “My name is Loki. And I have been… well, exhumed from my home for the time being.” 


	11. *Nostalgia Critic Voice* Exposition, Exposition, Exposition, Exposition!

“What do you mean, ‘exhumed’?” You ask. 

 

Loki is sitting on the chair again, letting you work on his wounds. You change out the bandages, gently peeling the tape and gauze away from his weeping skin. You bite your lip down, remembering having to do this to yourself at one time. A dark time. 

 

“Well,” Loki begins slowly, “Let’s just say that I angered the wrong people in a inopportune moment.” 

 

You freeze, “What do you mean?” You didn’t want to think about him accidentally bringing trouble over to the farm, that was the last thing your grandparents needed. 

 

Loki winces at your jerky movement. You try to be a little more gentle as he continues, “I was… different. Very different. My family decided to-” He hesitates, searching for words, “I died. A couple dozen years ago.”

 

“You don’t seem too dead to me.” You try to make your tone light as you press gauze down on his back. Yes, completely solid. 

 

“I was brought back. Dark magic and witchcraft, done by my older sister Hela. And I was brought back not in my full form, but as an infant to be raised. Hela and my… my birth father wanted me for their ‘plans’.” You can hear the pain in his voice, not the pain from the physical wounds on his flesh but the ones deep within him. 

 

“And I thought that maybe if I… Well, the family that raised me from before wasn’t keen on accepting a ghost back into their lives. They were,” He pauses, his breath quickening. You can hear tears form in his eyes, “They were satisfied with leaving my story at dying heroically, not wanting to risk the chaos I am capable of and reopen a relationship. And when Hela and my… father, found out I was trying to go back… Well, you see what they did.”

 

“That’s-” You don’t  know what to say. Silence echoes in your ears, his story so similar to yours. You set down the medical tape. You can’t hug him without pressing your stomach up against his back, which is not something you should touch unless your body is made of bandages. And this feels strange, this desire to touch another breathing being. You haven’t felt the need to show someone physical affection in years. The last time you hugged your grandparents was after your last hospital visit. 

 

You put a hand on his shoulder. He places his hand over yours, your fingers intertwining. “I’m going to be honest, well, I don’t really have a choice on that, but here’s what I’ve wanted to tell you for awhile: you’ve kept me sane.”

 

Hearing someone say that to  _ you _ of all people? You can’t help but scoff. Loki catches you disbelieve and turns to look at you, “You have. I know you think you’re the last person capable of that, but when I first met you, out in the wilderness, I thought,  _ this is someone who might be more insane than I. _ I didn’t know, at the time,” He hastily adds at your face, “Sorry, sorry. Honesty is a lot more harder than I thought.”

 

Your lips curve into a smile to show him it was okay. You didn’t want him to dance around you like the others do, you have a phycologist’s note to prove that you are crazier than he, that’s most definitely a fact. He continues, “And I couldn’t see you at first, so I had to go by sound. You have a beautiful voice, by the way. It makes people listen.”

 

You blush furiously, “I do not.”

 

He grins, “It’s very melodious, and even though you were drunk, yes, I know you were, and a little bumbling because of it, it was still a very nice thing to hear after falling into the ground.”

 

Now you’re blushing even harder at the memory of your incredibly awkward first meeting. Yes, you were drunk. All your ‘best’ decisions happen during that state. Like going off into the creature infested fields alone to search for a meteorite that may or may not have even hit the ground there. Maybe make a mental note not to pound the bottle so hard? 

 

“I didn’t know where I was or who I was with but I knew that you weren’t very likely to kill me, and if you were the only person within this aether forsaken world, I knew it was best to follow you.” His mouth is so nice. So, so nice. “And I am very glad I did.” 

 

Personal affection is not something you are very good at, either. Your face is probably redder than the apples stacked on the table when you manage to mumble, “I’m glad you did, too.” 

 

“And so I am glad my foster family rejected me, and that my birth family pushed me into banishment. I’m glad,” He brushes some stray strands of hand from your face, “That I met you.” 

 

You melt. And by melt, you turn into a soft, babbly mess. It takes all reserves of your self control not to start sobbing into his neck, because he’s holding you in a hug, and oh god, you’d get snot all over him if you start crying. So you do your best not to but in your hysterical state you let a few tears slip. You remember about his back before you put his arms around him and, well, there’s nowhere else for you to put them besides him butt and  _ that _ would makes things weird real fast. So you let them awkwardly dangle, or trying to find a perfectly non slashed part of his side you can rest your hands on. Though a saucy part of you, one you have never used before to be honest, is entirely sure he wouldn’t mind so much if you let your hands travel south of the equator. 

 

“So.” His voice is in your ear, and delicious shivers travel throughout your body, “Tell me about your visions.” 

 

You pull back slightly, “Um,” Every good feeling vanishes as you try to figure out where to start. You certainly didn’t want to start  _ there, _ even though Loki just shed himself for you, you weren’t sure if, oh god… Fire and metal. Heat and skin. Your scar throbs and you try again, “Um.”

 

You’re saved by your grandparents driving up in the driveway. 

 

____

 

Like all your problems, like everything that you think gets too much, like the goddamn moron you are, you avoid Loki for the rest of the week. He gets the hint right after the next day and doesn’t try to spend any time with you. Gram immediately picks up on the vibe and pulls you aside to ask you about it while Grampa and Loki are out in the field. 

 

“Has he done something to hurt you?” Her lips are pinched with worry. 

 

“No, no, Gram.” You vehemently defend him, “He’s actually helped me.” 

 

“Then what’s with this cloud of nervousness I see around you? You’re like Pancake when there’s a dog in the barn.” Gram chuckles nervously, hoping you aren’t lying to her. 

 

You look out the window, you can barely see Loki’s form out on the hill. He’s working on a machine, then stops to stare at the clouds hanging angrily over the horizon. The wolf-clouds that haven’t left, not once, since you saw them the first time when you went with Loki to Doc Samson. The next trip since then has felt empty and void, like you didn’t see the point.

 

“Oh.” Gram says, understanding dawning on her, “ _ Oh. _ I see.” Her expression softens, and she repeats, more quietly, “I see.” She takes your hand, “My sweet girl.”

 

“He might not see me the same way,” You whisper, forcing yourself not to cry, “I don’t want him to treat me any different. I want… I want to tell him but I don’t know how.” 

 

Gram thinks, letting a few minutes of silence wash over the two of you, “Just know that if someone sees you as less than what you are because-” Her voice cracks, “They aren’t worth anything, Apple Pie, do you hear me?  _ They’re _ the ones who aren’t worth anything.” 

 

You sniff, covering your eyes to hide the tears as they fall. “Yes, Gram.” 

 

She holds you in her arms. You love the way she smells, like flowers after a springtime shower. It’s the smell of protection, scent of someone who loves you more than you love yourself. 

 

“So whatever you decide to do, know that no matter what, you are worth more than the world can offer to me.”

 

____

 

You find him later in the barn, measuring out Pancake’s food into her troft. 

 

“I won’t get in your way.” He says stiffly, turning his back on you. 

 

“Loki,” You try, walking up behind him but he briskly moves so you can’t touch him, “Loki, please.”

 

“Please what? Tell you more about myself?” Loki lifts a bag of oats over his shoulder and moves it from one side of the barn to the other, “I tried that, thank you. Didn’t seem to get you to trust me more, no, it did the opposite I think.”

 

“That’s not true,” You jump at the sound of the bag hitting the metal of the wheelbarrow. 

 

“Isn’t it?” Loki wipes his hands on his pants and glares at you. He’s angry, yes, but more hurt than anything else. You know that feeling, you’ve been in agony under it for most of your life. “Then what, pray tell, is true? I can’t seem to know anymore.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“For what? Doing the right thing?” His skin flickers blue, “I’m not human, girl. I’m a monster, like the things you see in the corner of your eyes. I could kill you if I wanted.”

 

“So could a goose!” You shriek, angry and confused at your emotions swishing and whirling within you.

 

“A goose.” All the power and threat in his voice is gone, his skin is not longer going between realities. 

 

“Yes, have you seen their teeth? They could take a chunk of your arm right out of you.” You glare at him through your blurry eyes. “I bet I could kill you if I wanted to as well. There, see?  Now you’re not so special, asshole.”

 

Loki’s mouth twitches, his eyes dance with bitterness and reluctance as he fights a smile from surfacing. “That’s true I suppose. I shall rethink my argument, then.” He goes back to ignoring you, measuring the proper amount of oats for Lois now. 

 

“Loki.” At your voice he turns back, “I wasn’t avoiding you.”  You don’t have words for this. You don’t know how to begin or when exactly your story starts anyway, if it even has one. You feel sick having to explain to another person your feelings, you’ve never even told Doc Samson the story. Your hands feel slick with sweat and you can feel trembling in every cell of your body, but you want him to know. You want him to know. 

 

“That’s strange, because that’s what it felt like.” He turns away from you in frustration. You feel tears stinging both your cheeks. Deep breaths,  _ deep breaths.  _ That leaves one option. If you can’t tell him… you’ll show him. 

 

“Loki.” Your voice is quakes, and before you could lose your courage, you push down the waistband of your pants and raise up your shirt, revealing the cattle brand mark. “I wasn’t avoiding you. I was avoiding myself.”


	12. I Can't Think of Any Actual Name so This Will Have to Suffice by Fallout Boy

Loki’s anger melts away, his face going from bitterness to worry and empathy.

 

“I see,” He says quietly, setting down the water bucket and walking over to you. You focus on regulating your breathing as he kneels down and looks at your scar. You want to take a knife and cut it away, so that the terror of where it came from will be gone forever but you can’t. When you tried, your father had found you in the bathroom covered in blood and blacked out from loss and pain.  _ I can’t control her anymore, she’s a monster.  _

 

“I think… I think I’ve been able to see things all my life.” You admit, pulling down your shirt and shutting that memory away. “I was always told I had an active imagination.”

 

“But it wasn’t childish games, was it?” Loki and you move up to the hay storage, overhead Pancake’s stable. It smelled less like barn up there, the honey sweet smell of dry hay overpowering everything else. He sits by a window, the cool breeze prickling your cheeks. You sit by him, closer than the two of you ever have ever been besides comforting hugs. 

 

“I think even then I had a fundamental understanding of which creatures were my friends and which wanted to eat me.”  You remember playing with the girl in the field, her face alight with joy. You played teaparty with imaginary teacups you thought up out of thin air, giving her dead squirrel a hat and calling him Mr. Scarypie.  _ Bridgette. _ Oh gods, it’s been years since you thought of her name. 

 

“Children, I believe, are pure. The purity they have gives them the ability to sense evil because they have not yet committed atrocities.” Loki feels like he’s sucking the cold out of you. When you’re near him, you feel toasty warm even though you never threw on a jacket when you ran outside to find him. “Though as I stated before, I believe you are a little more perceptive than most.”

 

“I think I scared my-” Your throat closes up on that word. You need a moment to blink rapidly, tears blinding your eyes and threatening to choke you, _ choke you. _ Loki’s hand touches your back, encouraging and gently. You take a few deep breaths and continue, “My father. I scared my father since I could talk. I learned pretty fast not to tell him about my ‘imaginary’ friends or he would... “  _ Breathe, breathe. _

 

“You don’t have to tell me.” Loki’s voice is thick with distress on your behalf. He folds his arms around you and lets you whimper for a few minutes.

 

“My mom was better. She was always better than he was. Gram and Grampa are her parents, I don’t speak to my paternal grandparents because they’re as bad as he.”  _ Diabla, they call you when they think you aren’t listening. You were always listening.  _ “She let me babble on and on about what the eyeless boy and I would play during recess. About the lady in the red dress that hung around the bus stop. She would let me pull her into my world and never thought different about me.” 

 

“You love her very much.” Loki sounds almost jealous, probably from not having a single family member he can depend on. Oh, you are so selfish. You have two grandparents that love you, and a mother that put her life aside for yours. Did he have that, ever? Loki’s arms squeeze you gently as though sensing your distress.

 

“She’s dead.” You whisper. She’s dead and she’s the one ghost that you want to see but never do. Memories of that night spit in your face. The ranch hand, the one that smiled but had too many teeth. The one that always looked at you for too long,  _ too long. _ Your eyes haze over and you smell burning skin, fear pumping through your body like a poison. 

 

Loki holds you tighter, burying his face in your neck and you try to time your breaths with his.  _ You’re safe, you’re safe. _ Tears sting your eyes, and there’s something inside your chest that you can’t free yourself from. It squishes you, smashes you, you’re lungs can’t work around it. His arms suddenly feel cool, tampering down the burning feeling inside your stomach. You relax, slightly, and your lungs manage to feel oxygen again. 

 

“You don’t have to continue,” Loki says once you’ve managed to calm yourself down, “Let’s go back inside for dinner. Once it’s done, I’ll go upstairs with you and you can teach me some of this ‘calculus’, alright?” 

 

Shakily, you nod. He helps you up and leads you back down the ladder. 

 

Before you get to your house, he takes your hand and squeezes it. “Thank you for telling me.”

 

______

 

Gram has finally warmed up to Loki. You think she’s trying harder for your sake, and for that you are very thankful. You and Loki end up sticking together tougher than glue. The two of you finish the barn chores together, and you make sure to go out into the melon field occasionally to make sure Loki didn’t ‘forget’ anything. Albert has even sensed your growing connection and is trying to be extra nice as well. Just the other day he brought a twitching dead thing to Loki’s room as a peace offering. Neither you or Loki are sure what that thing was, other than it oozed black liquid that burned to the touch. You threw it away and hope it doesn’t bleed out of the trash bag. 

 

Right now the two of you are an hour and a half away from home, wandering a mall as Gram and Grampa do some business with a grocery company. You love the dynamic between your grandparents, how they’re always present together for big decisions, how Grampa never lets Gram out of the loop when it comes to the farm. 

 

They dropped you and Loki off at the largest mall within a two hundred mile radius, though in reality it was pretty standard for big city malls. You decide to give Loki a wardrobe makeover, you had maybe two hundred dollars from both your job milking the neighbor’s cow while they were away and donations from Grampa and Gram. The old hand-me-downs are basically rags at this point. 

 

Loki immediately wanders into Hot Topic. “Man after my own heart,” You whisper to yourself, smiling as you follow him into the dark store.  _ Welcome to the Black Parade  _ is playing loudly on the speakers. The clerk’s arms are covered in amazing dragon tattoos, the more you look, the more details you see in the design.  

 

Loki’s looking over the leather jacket section, trying to figure out which jacket will get him kicked out of your grandparents’ house the fastest. He tries one on and turns to you, giving you the bad boy bedroom eyes. “What do you think?”

 

You feel a pulse of something unfamiliar in your stomach, not an unwelcome feeling. “I think,” You try to keep your voice light and steady, “That the people of Crowley will burn you at the stake.” 

 

“They still do that here?” Loki asks, you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He replaces the jacket and wanders over to the dresses. There’s a skinny black one with open shoulders and a laced up front. “This would look good.”

 

“On me?” You squeak, looking at him. 

 

“Or me, if the mood strikes.” He winks at you and the clerk whistles appreciatively. Loki laughs good naturally and sees the Avengers novellia over in the corner. “My, my,” He walks over and looks at the Thor shirts, “What do we have here?” 

 

You’re fairly good at placing his moods by now. Loki’s eyes gaze over the products with a combination of longing and bitterness. He reaches over and touches Thor’s magic hammer, mewmew (you can never pronounce anything in that language correctly), his skin flickering just for a second to blue. He snatches his hand back as though he was burned. “Let’s go,” He mutters, his mouth in a thin line.

 

“But don’t you want to look more?” You try to coax, looking at the pretty sweet combat boots with  _ Supernatural’s _ anti-possession charm on it. 

 

“I’m done here.” He states gruffly, walking out. Sighing, you follow him as he quickly wanders off, getting as far away from that store as possible. You get to one of those huge department stores that eventually open up to an exit. 

 

“Hey, hey, wait up. We still need to piece together a wardrobe for you. Unless you want to be stuck wearing those old rags.” You finally decide to talk some sense into him, before you end up lost somewhere in the parking lot, “Why don’t we shop here? I’m sure there’s something here for your pretty bad boy persona.” 

 

He stops, staring at the racks of shoes that the two of you are by. He’s deeply upset by something, and you want to help but also want to give him space. You take his arm and hold it like you see the girls in the movies do, “After we pick some things out, we can head down to the food court and get some Starbucks. It’ll be like a… date.” 

 

That shoves him back from his subconscious, “Date? You mean one of those outings people go on when they’re romantically involved?”

 

His neutral tone makes you nervous, so you babble,  “Well I mean, not specifically. Sometimes it’s just an intimate thing between friends or family, it doesn't have to be romantic by any means, I just meant if you  _ wanted _ to we could-”  

 

‘Have a romantic outing between the two of us.” He’s smiling again, smiling at  _ you _ , “I like that idea.” 

 

You melt slightly, “Then let’s get started.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be honest, this was a really hard chapter for me to write. The Reader has some traumatizing stuff happen to her and just having to morph feelings into words was really exhausting and brutal. More of her backstory is coming, don't you worry.


	13. Loki Learns More About Earth, Decides Its Mating Rituals Are Dumb.

“No!” You try to keep your voice down. Luckily there aren’t many people around to listen to your argument, you’re here early on a school day. The only people within earshot are a pregnant mother looking over toddler clothes across the aisle, a five year old and his father looking at vests, and a teenage girl manning the help desk and ringing an elderly lady up. 

 

“Why not?” Loki looks very confused, like he can’t fathom why you’re so reluctant, “How do I know if something fits or not? You are more familiar with these styles than I.” 

 

“Why can’t you just walk out and show me?” You’re feeling slightly exasperated. 

 

“That would make everything take longer?” Loki’s arms are full of clothes, he manages to juggle them around so he can put a hand on his hip and regard you sassily. “Why can’t you come in with me?”

 

“ _ Because, _ ” You take a deep breath, “It’s not appropriate.” 

 

“Appropriate how? You’ve already seen me naked.”

 

“I’ve seen you without your shirt on! I haven’t seen you without your pants on.”  _ Loki without his pants on, _ a thirsty part of you whispers longingly. 

 

“So? There’s a first time for everything.” Loki glances around and lowers his voice, “I probably shouldn’t be trying these on with my back the way it is. You could make sure the bandages are all in place so I don’t get blood on the clothe.”

 

He has a point. “Fine.” You give up, following him into the dressing room. 

 

You lock the door firmly and settle yourself onto the chair. “Let’s go. First one.” You feel strange being in here with him, not because of what could happen but because of what other people would think if they saw you walk in with him. 

 

He strips his shirt off and you check his bandages. Everything appears to be firmly in place. He takes off his pants as well, leaving him only in his boxers. Besides his back, his skin is flawless porcelain. His legs are long and slightly muscular, and you can’t see a hair on any part of his body. You cross your legs and fight the weird feeling pooling in your gut. 

 

“Like what you see?” Loki gives you a knowing smile. You throw the first outfit at him.

 

“Put the clothes on, asshole.”

 

He does what you say, giving you a little show as he shimmies on his pants. You resist the urge to punch him. “What do you think?” He holds his arms out and spins around. 

 

Not nearly as impressive as seeing him almost naked, but pretty good. “Try on a different one.”

 

The two of you continue for a few more shirts and pants. “Okay, I like these.” You point to the ones that make the cut.

 

“I’ll trust your judgement.” Loki responds, putting his own clothes back on. It’s odd how he can act like the wounds on his back are barely affecting him, only slightly limping on days where the field work was especially hard. You frown, and before he puts his shirt on you spin him around and check his back. 

 

“It doesn’t hurt?” You ask, gently peeling away one of the gauze pads. 

 

“Not as much as when I first arrived.” Loki stays still while you observe the wounds, “Maybe they are healing, just on the inside.” 

 

His skin looks blue around the burns and gashes, blue with tiny swirls of designs dotting the skin. “Why do you flicker blue sometimes?” You ask quietly. 

 

“It’s my natural state.” Loki says in a low voice, “I can physically change my shape, but the markings…”

 

“What do they mean?” You murmur, running your finger on the good skin alongside the injury. 

 

Loki takes a shaky breath before answering, “Truthsayer. It’s an ancient rune, one of the most powerful especially with the way it was… inscribed.” 

 

You were right, it did mean something.  _ Truthsayer _ . “What exactly does it do?” You’re almost scared to ask, but you know that Loki can just choose not to tell you if he wanted, the way you sometimes choose not to talk about things you aren’t ready to say to him.

 

“Hela thought it would be especially funny to curse me.” Loki turns to face you. The two of you are close,  _ so close, _ “When she found out I had been trying to play as a spy, she was especially furious. She had been so confident that I was to be trusted, since my adoptive family… Well, when she found out I had been lying to her, she put this rune on me. Truthsayer renders the victim incapable of deceit.” 

 

You think of the few times Loki acted like he was choking on his own tongue when he first met you. “Oh.” You whisper, “I see. Does it, um,  _ force  _ you to tell the truth when you’re asked something?” Guilt bleeds into your skin at the thought of making someone do anything. 

 

“No, no, it’s not like that.” He senses your concern and turns to face you, “I am not compelled to do anything, it’s just when I speak, I have to only say things that are true. For example, Pancake is a horse. This is a store. You,” He reaches over and brushes some hair from your face, “Are a very beautiful person.” 

 

You feel blood rush to your face, “I am not.” 

 

“Uh, no, actually. We just established that I can’t lie. You are a very beautiful person and that’s the final verdict.” Loki’s thumb runs down your jawline, resting on your chin. And he’s close, leaning in towards you. Your lips brush together, once, gently. A breeze runs against your legs, like the universe itself is sighing at your kiss.  _ You want more. _

 

“What do you really look like?”

 

Loki draws back, looking at the way your gaze dances over him, the way you’re still breathing hard from just the tiniest kiss, the way your face blushes when you get nervous.

 

“I mean,” You take a deep breath, “If this face is mask, I want you to know that you can take it off around me. I won’t judge you. I’ll probably like it.” The last part is unnecessary and a bit lame, but you felt like he needs it anyway.

 

His fingers graze your cheek, “When I’m ready,” He promises, “You’ll be the first to see.” 

 

You nod, knowing without a doubt that his the most he’s ever offered anyone. You see it in his eyes when he looks at you, the desire to show you that he’s worth trusting even with the rune carved into his back. The two of you lean towards each other again.

 

Your phone rings. It’s Gram, you know from the special Frank Sinatra song you set for her ringtone. You know she’s probably looking for you, and oh, god forbid she finds the two of you like this. Even though she’s trying to adjust to modern times with things like dating, not saying anything when you spend more time with Loki, but the two of you alone in this compromising situation? You do not want to be around for that.

 

You slip out of the dressing room to answer. “Hello?”

 

“Hello, Appleberry. Grampa is almost done signing the contracts and things, we were thinking about getting lunch. Are you and Loki almost done?” Judging by the time that has been spent since she dropped you off, they aren’t done and she’s just worried about you being alone in public. Her worry isn’t misplaced, you had a breakdown the last time you were here. 

 

“Would you and Grampa like to have a date together?” You blurt out, “I know I’ve been a lot of trouble and time-consuming, and the two of you haven’t really gotten a chance to be together.” 

 

She’s quiet for a few minutes on the other end, “I wouldn’t want to leave you and Loki stranded for any longer than I have.” She says slowly, but you can hear a slight bit of creeping happiness in her voice. Since you and Loki have been honest about the visions to each other, you haven’t been as plagued by them.Even to the point of Gram noticing how much better you’re doing. 

 

“Loki and I are still sorting out the clothes business, I think it’ll be longer. We just picked some jeans out for him.” Loki returns from the dressing room, you help him hang everything on the discard shelf. 

 

“If you think so… Why don’t you put Loki on the phone so I can talk to him?” 

 

You hand him the phone. 

 

“Hello, how’s everything going?” Loki says in his smooth business voice. You finish folding one of the jeans and set it in the basket as he talks. 

 

“I do have it.” He pats his pocket as confirmation, “She’s fine. We’ve had a stimulating conversation about an unnamed town burning people at the stake for wearing pre-ripped jeans.” You shoot a glare at him, but you can hear Gram laughing at the other end. “Absolutely, you can count on me. Goodbye.” 

 

He hangs up and hands you the phone. “Looks like our date is on.” His smile is blindingly perfect. 


	14. Two Steps Forward and One Step Back

Loki decides to wear the dark blue jeans and one of the two flannel shirts you bought in the big department store right away. He emerges from the bathroom, and you need a moment to gulp at his appearance. Even though you have just seen him without either pants or shirt on, with this outfit everything fits. Really well. 

 

He’s wearing a black shirt under the flannel one, leaving the buttons open. His flannel is dark green and black, making his already pale skin look almost white. His jeans are tighter than most of the boys around Crowley wear, and his old worn work boots give him this almost hipster but kind of emo feel. It suits him. You notice his nails are black again. All in all, he’s almost scandalously dressed, but just toned down enough to not be eaten alive back home. 

 

“Whoa.” You say, approvingly, “You look amazing.” 

 

“Many thanks.” He slips his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. “Shoes next?”

The two of you walk like that, and it makes you feel astoundingly  _ normal. _ Just a boy and a girl out on a date together in a mall, shopping for clothes and getting sugary coffee after. Not a girl suffering everything from A-Z in mental sickness. Not a boy who fell from the sky with signs carved into his flesh. 

 

You get him some new black work boots and a nicer pair of dress shoes. Then you go into a different department store and got him a dark green button down shirt and black slacks. 

 

“You sure like those two colors.” You observe during checkout. 

 

“It’s sort of my thing.” He gives out one of his mysterious smiles to you. 

 

Starbucks is blissfully peaceful. Loki decides to try one of those minty leprechaun drinks. You get a plain, piping hot cappuccino and the two of you sit down on a small table, surrounded by your purchases and facing each other. 

 

“This is nice.” You murmur, taking a sip of your drink. 

 

“It is.” Loki admits, looking over his shoulder as though checking for anyone that might listen in, “Your family’s kindness to me is extraordinary.”

 

“Well, what were we supposed to do? Leave you there to die?” You joke, staring at the foam in your cup.

 

“Yes.” Loki says evenly. “Yes.” His face is drooping, almost, you can see the emotions running in his eyes like a river. 

 

“Why would-” 

 

“Let’s not talk about it now,” Loki sits up straighter and those emotions are drained back into his mind. “In the car ride you were telling me all about Mars and its colonies. I would like to hear more about that.” 

 

“Um, alright.”  You relent, letting the subject drop for now. That doesn’t mean you were never going to try to reopen it, though. “So in fifty or so years, the people at NASA predict that we’ll have a pretty decently sized human population on the planet.” 

 

Loki lets you drone on, allowing your voice to soothe and lead him out of the dark place he is slipping into. He gazes at his cup, taking an overly dainty sip every now and then. He lets the heat from the cup bleed into his hands, trying to forget who he is, trying to forget  _ what _ he is-

 

You feel a soft push in the front of your mind as you stutter through your words. Loki is looking at you a little more intensely now, the corner of his lip tugging upwards. “Try that again,” He suggests, “Push back against me.” 

 

You do, closing your eyes in concentration. You sharpen your concentration to a point and push forward through the foggy wall, moving inch by inch.  _ He’s letting you win _ , something inside you whispers,  _ he’s not actually trying. _ And by Loki’s relaxed half grin as you struggle forward, those words are true. You feel your resolve slacken.

 

“You’re doing great,” Loki’s voice breathes into your mind. He didn’t open his mouth to speak, yet you can hear it, as loud and as clear as the other voices that plague you. You feel him, the crisp smell of frigid winter air breezing through your body. 

 

Your phone rings again. How long has it been ringing? It feels like an eternity just happened between you and Loki. You and those beautiful alien eyes. You pick up the phone and answer. It’s Gran, everything has been finalized and they’re ready to head home. “Ready?” You ask him, standing up tall and stretching. 

 

“Certainly.” He takes some of the bags and the two of you head out of Starbucks. 

 

“Free sample?” One of the employees at a nearby food stand offers. They smile, revealing a row of very, very sharp teeth. 

 

“Um, no thanks.” You decline, moving closer to Loki. The employee’s eyes narrow at him, slightly, and does a quick lookover of him.

 

“Maybe next time.” Their smile returns, stretching wider than a human’s mouth should go. 

 

Loki’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you tightly against him. “Maybe,” He says passively, speeding his pace up. When you turn around to look at the employee again, they’re gone. 

 

______________

 

The ride home is quiet and peaceful. Your nose is buries itself in an introductory chemistry book while Loki stares out the window towards the horizon. 

 

_ Fenris is closer, _ something murmurs. You smell winter and snow.

 

_______________

 

At night you dreams of wolves. The pack is so closely knit that they are one entity, hissing, scratching, screaming for blood. A wrathful horde of black fur and hatred for someone, something specific. Flashes of Loki fill your vision, except it’s not him, it’s someone older, more refined. You can feel the evil radiating from him, and you know to fear him. The wolves take you into their protection, and they show you.

 

New York in ruins, he’s standing over the carnage. His eyes are a sickly blue, his skin tinged yellow, he looks so  _ pleased _ at the destruction that surrounds him. And you see him sitting on a throne, except he’s also an old man with an eye patch.  You can see the old man, and Loki wearing him like an outer skin, like the cover is see through. You know that you’re the only one that can see him underneath the glamour. 

 

_ Evil, _ the wolves murmur in your ear,  _ evil, conniving liar. Don’t trust the silver tongued Jotunn. _

 

 You wake up, something heavy on your chest. A wolf is laying across your bed. Its eyes are red and murderous, you can feel the growl shaking your house. You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe,  _ you can’t breathe. _

You scream, sitting up in bed. Sweat soaks your pajamas, but you’re freezing. Your fingers feel like ice has been injected into your veins. You look around wildly, trying to see if anything is out of place, but nothing is. You close your eyes and hope that you didn’t wake Gran, she already thinks you’re doing better. A night terror might put her confidence for you to have more freedom back a few steps. You pull your blankets closer to your body and listen. No footsteps. Only the whistle of the night train can be heard, the faraway rattling of its tracks lulling you back to sleep. 

 

A breeze flows through your room, even though the window is shut tight. When you move to double check, you see Albert is sitting on your shelf across your bed. He hunches down, then springs forward onto your bed. He pads up to you and bumps his forehead against you. He meows softly, giving your cheek a few kitten kisses.  _ I love you. _

 

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you feel streaks of tears prick down your cheeks.  You pull Albert closer and sob quietly. 


	15. Can U Not, Please.

The next morning consists of Loki pretending not to have heard your midnight breakdown, even though his bedroom is right next to yours and the walls are pretty thin. The only two reasons that your grandparents never heard (well, Gram, since Grampa can't hear anything with his hearing aids turned off) was because they sleep downstairs, and Grampa snores louder than a freight train. 

 

You roll out of bed very literally, throwing yourself onto the ground in an attempt to wake up. You would rather try to catch up on sleep, but the animals aren’t going to feed themselves. Your nerves still wire on edge, and you can still feel a wolf’s howl in your bones. You grab your booze bottle and stumble to the bathroom, taking your meds and downing them with alcohol. Everything fades into a hazy focus, making you feel less apprehensive but also… drunk. A tradeoff, one that was worth it sometimes. 

 

Albert stays close to you as you go about your morning chores, running between your legs and hissing at Pancake when she tries to misbehave. You feel not great, but not awful as you get Albert’s food out and clean out his litter. You eat breakfast quietly, Loki shooting you the occasional worried look. 

 

Before he goes out to work in the fields, he pulls you aside in the laundry room to speak in private. “Are you alright?”

 

Flashes of the nightmare you had surface, of a man in green standing over the ruined corpse of a city, the wolves screaming in your ear of  _ evil, evil, evil, evil. _

 

_ Not evil. _ Your dream was nothing. Nothing. You can’t brush it away as just another meaningless hallucination, though, because Loki sees them as well. But it was meaningless. The boy in front of you is not someone to fear. Forcing yourself to swallow your nervousness down, you nod once. 

 

“That was a stupid question I knew you weren’t even going to answer truthfully.” Loki rolls his eyes, “Let me rephrase, is there anything I can do to help you?” 

 

_ Hold me,  _ you want to say but don’t. “I’ll let you know.” 

 

He nods, leaning in and giving you a peck on the lips. “See that you do.” 

 

_____________

 

That night you have a similar nightmare. The wolves take you again, showing you the chaos that the man in green leaves in his wake. You shake your head and try to ask them  _ why are you showing me this?  _

 

_ Do not trust the one who lies with truth,  _ the wolves are gentle today,  _ do not- _

 

A scream, but not yours. You sit up, heart pounding, listening to what is on the other side of your bedroom door. 

 

Another scream, except it’s not a human one. It’s a cat, scratching at your door and yowling to get in. “I hear you, Albert!” You call, trying to get him to calm down before he wakes the whole household. You get up, flipping on your bedside lamp and move over to the door, opening it. Albert shoots in, running around your bed, jumping over one of your chairs and around your legs. 

 

When his fit is over, he calmly pads up to you and places a paw on your foot. He meows. 

 

“What?” You ask crossly, looking over the path of destruction that he made. In his panic, he had knocked over one of your lamps and the papers on your desk had been strewn about. You shut your door and  start cleaning up his mess. Albert whimpers and rubs his head on your legs while you quickly tidy up, as though he’s apologising. 

 

You set the lamp back upright and turn it off, but the light doesn’t stop. It’s coming from your window. 

 

Albert’s fur stands on end, he hisses and tries to stop you from walking towards the window, but you have to see what’s glowing. Out near the horizon, you see a deer, like the one you saw a little while ago with Loki. Only this one is the size of a silo. 

 

It is massive, bigger than any building you’ve seen in the city. Sleek and majestic, antlers stretching out in an intricate infinity. You can see the unsteady beat of a dying star in it’s center where its heart should be, pulsing only with echoes of a live it once possessed. It takes a step, slow, steady, walking further from your land and out to the untamable country beyond. 

 

Thunder cracks, but no rain falls. 

 

___________

 

Loki has been learning to drive, but since he has no proof of residence or anything that says he exists, he can’t get a license. It doesn’t matter out here, you’re confident that most people of Crowley drive without or with expired licenses anyway. The sheriff only pulls over cars he doesn’t recognize, liking to ticket city folk who think the rules are below them. 

 

So when Grampa and Gram are both finding themselves busy, they ask Loki and you to go to town to the little grocery store to pick some things up for dinner. Which you agree eagerly, you can count the times on your hand you’ve been to town without an adult escort. This will be like another little date between the two of you. 

 

 You get into the car and Loki starts the engine. A tiny bit of thrill thrums through your body as the two of you roll down the street. 

 

“I never asked you where you are from.” You say, and you’ve wanted to talk about it for so long but you’ve seen the longing and bitterness in his eyes every time he talked about his family. 

 

“That’s a complicated question.” He says as an answer, “I’m not even sure of it myself.” 

 

You pick at the fuzz on your sweater, “I know the feeling.” And you do, you have a place you were born at and a place that you’ve lived for a period of your life, but then you have Crowley. And yes, you hate most of the people at Crowley, but you love Gram and Grampa and the farm. “I think this is my home.” You say after a moment of consideration.

 

“I think this is my home as well.” Loki states, looking over his shoulder at the retreating fields. Daisies are beginning to pop up, bright white against the muted yellow of overgrown grass. The smell of cow has faded, leaving you with the stale mint of the air fresheners. You roll down your window, letting in the deliciously lush country breeze. 

 

The town’s marker is an old sign, half of it rusted over from exposure to time and the elements. A few houses dot the outskirts, each in different phases of decay. A rundown gas station is the first signs of sentient life. It’s open sign is flickering, but you see bloodstains on the wall. 

 

The small grocery store has either the freshest ingredients from the local gardens and farms or the most poisonous of dried, canned, and frozen foods stiff with preservatives. Loki parks the car with ease, and the two of you hop out. You have the short list of need items, so you grab the basket and head inside. 

 

The cashier is the same as you’ve always seen her. A teen girl, your age. Her hair is long and straight chestnut, the kind of brown that is almost black but not quite. Her eyes are dead with heavy circles beneath them, her olive skin ashy and tinged with gray. “Yo.” She says in greeting, nodding her head at you. She hasn’t aged in the thirteen years you’ve come to the store with Gram, not a single wrinkle from time on her skin. Her name tag is always different, today it reads;  _ Stacy, Manager, _ with the Best Buy logo in the corner _. _

 

The two of you have a mutual respect for one another. You don’t bother her, and she doesn’t bother you. 

 

You and Loki go to the produce section first. In the corner of the store, you see Cheryl’s son, Cairo. Cheryl names her children after cities she will never go to as she lives the entirety of her miserable life in one single place. Maybe that’s why she’s so cranky, because she knows that in the long run, her life in miniscule and incapable of greatness. 

 

Like his mother, Cairo enjoys picking on you when your grandparents aren’t around. He hates how you don’t react to him the same way others do, all he has to do to someone else is give a pouty smile and they jump at his bidding. He’s the rugged handsome of a football quarterback, square jaw, hair shaved at the sides and combed to the side on top. Tan skin from practice and blue eyes to make the girls weep when they look at him. Sometimes when the light is right, you think you see his ears poking in an odd angle. 

 

He has none of the feline refinement that Loki emulates. 

 

“Hey, schitzo.” Cairo says when he’s sure neither of your grandparents are present. 

 

“Hey, dickweed.” You bark back, going over vegetables and checking for ripeness. 

 

“Who’s your boyfriend? I heard you’re grandparents are taking in all freaks now.” 

 

“Creative. Did you work on that all night?” You snap, doing your best not to crush the peach in your grip. 

 

“I bet the two of you were working all night.” He sneers, looking between the two of you.

 

“You say that as though it’s an insult.” Loki says passively, taking the basket from you. You can feel annoyance building up inside of him.

 

“Two freaks, having a cute freak baby,” Cairo gets really close to you. Your fist closes and you’re going to fucking  _ crush that perfect nose with your knuckles, _ “It’s a disappointment, really, but if you ever get tired of her whining pussy, I’d love to have a taste of-”

 

Stacy is behind him, a flurry of darkness ebbing through her. You don’t remember her walking over, and you don’t remember her reaching over and placing her hand on his shoulder, but there she is, her fingers curling into almost talons. She leans over and whispers loud enough for you to hear, her voice ragged and promising pain, “Cairo,  _ not in my goddamn store. _ ”

 

You can almost feel Stacy’s fingers crack Cairo’s collarbone. The second she lets go, he books it out of there, knocking over a display of candy in the process. 

 

“Someone has to clean that up, you son of a man-whore!” Stacy shouts after him, but he doesn’t stop. 

 

“I’m sorry.” You say, kneeling down and picking up the candy. Loki does the same. 

 

Stacy answers in tongues, hissing an ancient language full of power and magic under her breath as she fetches a broom. The three of you set up the display again and replace all the spilled products. Stacy returns back to her cashier’s seat and glares at a magazine while you and Loki  finish up your shopping. 

 

“Thanks for your assistance.” Loki is sure to ask her as she rings up your groceries. 

 

Stacy rolls her eyes and shoves the paper bag towards you. “Keep your shit out of here,” is all she says in response. 


	16. Something Clever About This Being Loki's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made illustrations!  
> I have the character designs for Stacy and Loki here:  
> https://for-fucks-sake-literally.tumblr.com/post/168763659079/yoooooooo-i-made-some-illustrations-for-my-fic

His back was killing him, he could barely breath, and he was sure he was going to die, die on this pathetic and uncivilized planet. Hela’s enraged face swam in his vision, he could still feel the obsidian blades, heated in the heart of a dwarf star, raking across his flesh. He could feel his ribs shattering with impact, shards of bone going in dangerous directions. He thought that maybe the fall would kill him, but he could never be that lucky, could he? 

 

Like a newborn, he attached himself to the first sentient creature he heard. A voice like honey and lemon, sweet and sharp, wise yet youthful. Someone willing to carry him up the side of the ground he penetrated. He counted himself lucky that you appeared to be good willed, anything else that might have found him would have been able to do unspeakable things in his state. 

 

Your grandparents had a right to be suspicious. He was more trouble than any worth he could grunge up to give them, and they should have thrown them out on the doorstep and let him die. But you spoke up, you appealed to their softer side. You painted him as a boy who desperately needed people in his life to show him kindness. Convincing people of his better qualities was something that he hasn’t been able to do since his rebirth. 

 

He saw it working, your grandparents mulling over their almost desperate need to provide charity to those who could use it. And they looked at you, and he saw their hesitance was on your behalf, they were worried about your safety. So he opened his mouth and reassured them the truth; he would never harm you. Not you, the person who pulled him from the ashes of his fall and carried him to safety. Even if you were bumbling a bit when you did. 

 

Miracle of miracles, they agreed to set him up in exchange for work, which he was more than willing to agree on. He was never good in the physical department, not comparing to Thor or even any of his Jotunn blood brothers, but this was Midgard. Even his physical capabilities could be considered god-like. 

 

Peeling the clothes from his skin was as painful as receiving the wounds. Hela had made sure he was wearing a fresh tunic so his blood would crust it onto his skin, the sadist. But the makka beast leather was probably the only thing that kept his skin from shredding further and becoming riddled with infection when he hit the earth. 

 

You were an enigma he wanted to solve. A girl fearless of the physical world, unaware of her own mortality. No, not unaware, he realized after a few days with you, you were hyper aware of your own mortality. That was the problem, it seemed that a part of you was keen on throwing your life away. 

 

He saw you chewing the poison pills like they were candy. Saw you swallow them down with alcohol. He wanted to shake you then, scream at you that you were drowning gifts that at one time he would have killed and pillaged to have. That at one time he did spiral down that too dark path to chase something that nature wouldn’t allow. 

 

But he didn’t. He didn’t feel like he had the right to voice his opinion on you.

 

 He couldn't remember much from his time  _ before, _ but he knew his reputation. Gods forbid Hella and his birth father let him forget.  _ Cunning, thieving monster. _ He was an animal at one point, obsessed with destroying his brother’s legacy, lusting for power to hold in his hands. He still had that drive, that drive to learn and absorb and to work like a dog to get what he wanted. He still had his cunning, though now he used it not to turn friends against each other but to try to steer you from the path of self destruction. 

 

He wouldn’t admit it at first, but he grew an emotional attachment to you. One that came increasingly difficult to hide as time with you passed by. It was blindingly hard to ignore you, the internal desire to return the favors you gave him pounded in every vein.  _ Protect, watch over, help you understand that you were entirely and wholly sane. _ The land was the terrifying one, not your mind. 

 

He can’t see the creatures, not like you do, but he knows they are there. He shares the magic they have inside him from his rebirth, he can feel them in the back of his mind enough to understand that you are anything but the ill person everyone, even  _ you _ claimed you were. But he didn’t make any immediate moves. He watched. He waited. He became what you needed most, a friend. And slowly, connection the two of you have blossomed into something more than friendship. 

 

Your grandfather pulled him aside one day and had a serious discussion about the relationship the two of you had been developing. Your grandfather reassured him that he was not against romantic entanglement between the two of you, it’s just that you were the way you were and though there’s hope of your mental health improving, it’s going to time and patience. Loki had to be willing to give those to you. Also, your grandfather was sure to add, if Loki tried to take advantage of you there’s miles of no man’s land to bury him in. 

 

Loki answered that he’d sooner bury himself then do that to you. 

 

Your grandfather patted him on the back and told him that he’s been a blessing since he arrived. Loki wasn’t sure what to do with that information. He had never been regarded that way before. He went up to his room to have a silent breakdown. 

 

Their love for you was unconditional. Loki doesn’t think he had witnessed that kind of familial love before. And slowly, your grandparents were beginning to extend that love to him. 

 

Even if something about this town was wrong, he was going to stay. 


	17. Guys, this is a Serious Chapter.

The night is thunderously quiet. No train wakes you up. No thunder roaring in the distance. The coyotes and others are silent. Albert sleeps next to you, having protested when you tried to kick him out the evening before. 

 

The next therapy visit you are visibly better. The dark circles beneath your eyes have faded, your lips are full and smiling. Doc Samson regards your physical improvements with happiness, and you can feel Gram barely keeping her joy to herself. You can feel her think that the medicines are finally working. 

 

You haven’t taken your meds in days. You don’t say this to either of them.  

 

You’re not hungry enough to eat your chocolate muffin so you wrap it up for later. On the car ride home, you and Gram talk about taking the PSAT in the fall. You tell you feel confident enough to take it, and you can see a glimmer in her eye. 

 

A woman in white tries to flag the car down for a ride, but you ignore her. 

 

________________

 

You can’t find Albert today, but you suspect he’s out catching some other goopy gift to give to Loki. 

 

You go out in the melon fields. You have a truce gift in hand, and a flashlight in the other. It’s the middle of the day and warm, but clouds cover the sun. Everything is bathed in a hazy grey, but your vision is as sharp as ever.

 

You hear her before you see her. 

 

“Bridgette.” You say, holding out one of your old stuffed animals, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings.” 

 

She’s sniffing, her eyes pure black yet so full of emotion you can feel her sadness pulsing out of her. Her hair is as messy as ever, red and wild, purple and green bruises decorating her broken neck. 

 

“You were my friend.” She whimpers, “I don’t have anyone to play with anymore.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” You sit down besides a watermelon sprout, “I really am. I brought this to keep you company, and,” you pull out the uneaten muffin from your pocket, “I don’t know if you can eat, but here’s this.”

 

She hisses at the muffin, but sits down in front of you and takes the teddy bear. Holding him tight, she whimpers, “He won’t let me leave. I want to go but he won’t let me.” Her leg peeks out of her dress, a scar similar to yours branding her thigh. 

 

You can feel that presence in the back of your mind, the one that feeds off of Bridgette’s anguish whenever you leave. It’s sickly familiar. You can barely handle the fear that freezes your blood in your heart, because though you don’t want to remember, you do. 

 

“I- I have to go,” You stutter, standing up fast enough your head spins. Bridgette watches you, silent in her misery. “I’ll figure something out. I promise.” You run back to the house, looking for Loki. 

 

You find him in the living room, reading one of those antique world atlases that Grampa keeps around for nostalgia’s sake. He looks up when you walk in, worry washing over his features when he sees your wild appearance. Gram is down in the basement doing a tally of this month’s expenses, she’d hear if you break down now. And you can’t do that to her, not when she thinks you’re better. 

 

“I need to talk to you. Upstairs.” You whisper at him. He sets aside the map and follows you up to your room. You shut the door and make sure the windows are closed, before turning to him. Your face crumples. Loki closes the distance between you and holds you tight while you silently bawl like a child. 

 

“He’s here.” You choke, gasping for air as anxiety grips your lungs, “He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.” 

 

“Who’s here?” Loki tries to ask, but you can’t answer, you’re breaking down and your dam is gone and the memories pour through, painful, terrifying memories of that night. You can’t scream because Gram might hear you and you can’t… not after everything she hopes for…

 

You smell the crisp air of winter, and you realize that it’s coming from Loki. He holds you tighter. The coolness helps you get a hold of reality, breathing the familiar scent of him relaxing your body. You try to match his deep breathing. After a few minutes, you’re well enough to string together a coherent sentence. 

 

“I was eight,” You rub your eyes violently, trying to focus on the pain and colors you see explode behind your eyelids, “I was eight. There was a older ranch hand here. I… don’t remember his name. My mom and I were visiting my grandparents.” Slowly, pieces of the night fall into place. You had been so set on never thinking about it again you couldn’t even remember what had happened that entire year at all. 

 

“My parents had just divorced. My father was fighting for full custody because he couldn’t let anyone get the better of him. My mom having to beg to see me probably gave him an erection.” You shiver at the memory of his face, stony cold in the lawyer’s office, “And my mom wanted some place where she could stay and work and not have to worry about him pulling any shit.” 

 

He sits on your bed, and you lay your head in the crook of his arm to feel his skin on yours, reassuring you that you are here, that you are safe. You continue, “Grampa just hired a guy to help out in the melon fields. But there was something shady about him. I could tell, my mom could tell, and Gram could tell. Grampa said he was only here for the summer and then he would be on his way up north, but still. Mom made sure I wasn’t ever alone with him. Gram made sure he slept out in the old barn, not in the house.” 

 

Loki’s petting your hair, his fingers cool and soft. No calluses are on his fingers, as though his ethereal beauty is immune to farm work. You close your eyes, but you can’t stop speaking. If you do, you’ll start crying again. So you let it all out.

 

“One night the ranch hand broke into my room.” You remember his hands, hot and clammy, smack over your mouth to keep you from screaming. How he dragged you out of the window and down into the grass, how the cold wet grass scratched your bare legs as you kicked and fought. How he closed his finger around your neck and squeezed until you blacked out. “He called what he did to me ‘games’.” Your eyes blur.

 

“Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.” Loki’s voice is broken when he speaks to you, he strokes your hair. The steady rhythm and sound of his fingers on your scalp helps you keep in the present. 

 

“My mom found me. I don’t remember how for how long he kept me there. But he found her trying to carry me out.” Blood, sweat, and guts. Your mother fought him like a wildcat, scratching and screaming and hoping that people would hear her. “He had a huge, hot fire to heat the brand. It’s how he laid claim on the girls he took, a signature to keep us from ever escaping him.” Your scar burns at the memory of what he did, “My mom grabbed him,” your voice breaks, you can barely get the rest of the sentence out, “She tried to push him into the fire, but he pulled her in with him.” The horrifying scent of human flesh fills your nose and you have to resist the need to vomit. Even through the pain, your mother held onto him to keep him from jumping out. She held onto him until he stopped struggling, the fire enveloping both their bodies. 

 

“You watched everything happen.” Loki whispers, you can feel him crying against your neck. 

 

The pain from the burn caused you to lay passively as the fire grew from its carefully crafted pit onto the hay littering the floor from the fight. You could feel the heat licking at your feet, not nearly as painful as the burn on your stomach. The fire department came before you were burned alive like your mother, and you were carted away to the hospital. 

 

“He hurt me.” You say, resentment beginning to churn in your stomach, you turn the pain into anger and you nurse it, your voice becoming steady, “And he hurt the girl in the fields. And god knows how many others.” You take a deep, watery breath, looking into Loki’s eyes, “And he’s still here.” 

 

“Then we find him. And we send him to Hel where he belongs.” Loki says resolutely, hatred smoldering in his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More on Reader's past!  
> I can't believe how many kudos this fic has, I'm blown away by its reception. Thank you all for your kind comments!


	18. Maybe It Just Wanted a Hug

It takes you a long time to piece yourself together to look presentable. Loki finally offers to put some glamour over you.

 

“What’s that?” You blow your nose, trying to desperately practice a preppy and upbeat tone to keep your grandparents from worrying.

 

“You know how you can see things but other people can’t and how I can sense them but not physically see them?” Loki asks, running a hair brush through your hair. The movement relaxes both of you. 

 

“Yes.” You say cautiously.

 

“Glamour is something that keeps, um, how would you put it,” He closes his eyes in concentration, “The untrained? The untuned,” he nods at his term, “From seeing reality. There’s something about you that clogs your mind from comprehending it. What I would do is make an illusion and put it on your skin like a mask.”

 

 “You can control it? Like magic?” 

 

“It’s not magic… It’s a higher science. Like your physics, it’s just a severe understanding of how the mind works,” Loki explains, playing with your thoroughly combed hair. He gently pulls at your scalp and digs his fingers into your roots, your headache from sobbing relieved slightly. 

 

“Alright.” You don’t care, you’d probably be fine with frenching the devil if it meant your grandparents remain oblivious to your breakdown. Loki lays you down so your head is on his lap. He places his hands on either side of your hace, his skin cool and gentle. Slowly, he touches your temples, your forehead, running his fingers down to your mouth, cupping your chin. He then gently rubs his thumb over you eyelids. 

 

“All done.” Loki helps you sit up, and you stare at yourself in the mirror on your door. Your eyes still look swollen and your nose is all stuffed and red. 

 

“I don’t see a difference.” 

 

“You can see through glamour,” Loki reminds you, his lips twitching up, “So you’ll have to trust me on this one. But I did do a good job, if I do say so myself.” 

 

The two of you head downstairs for dinner. Gram and Grampa don’t make any comment on your appearance other than how healthy you were looking, so you suspect Loki’s illusion did the trick. 

 

The four of you talk about SATs and getting financial aid for college. You force yourself to smile and nod, choking up some eagerness to show them. 

 

At night the dreams shake you awake, but Albert doesn’t come in like he always does when you’re restless. You sit up in bed, sweat damp on your forehead, listening in the hopes that you’ll hear his scratches at the door, but all you hear are the incoherent whispers of something sinister outside. Terror gently grasps your heart and squeezes out adrenaline, staring slow and building up more and more until you feel like you can’t breath. 

 

You reach over for your anxiety meds on the table but it’s empty. Movement in the window catches you eye, and though you know better than to look, you do anyway. 

 

Two eyes staring at you with such a ferocious intensity you nearly vomit in terror. They’re pulsing, disgusting things. Moss grows around the skin, greenish and mildew ridden. The whites are dark yellow and sagging with disease, and the irises have maggots crawling in them. You can barely see who exactly the eyes belong to, because the rest of it is fading into black. 

 

You get up and walk out of your bedroom, almost calm and serene, like someone who is in control of her actions. You tread silently into the next nearest door, Loki’s guest room, and knock quietly. He opens the door a minute later, without his shirt on. One look at your face expression, eyes wide with fear and body visibly shaking in the night, and he opens the door wider for you to be let in. You don’t have to be told twice. 

 

You babble something about eyes and faces, not making any sense. Loki lets you jabber, leading you to the bed and laying you down. You hold onto him, your fingers probably clawing into his skin at the thought of being left alone. 

 

He crawls into bed with you, tucking you in under the covers. Your head rests in the crook of his arm.

 

“I’m sorry.” You finally manage to string together a sentence in plain english. 

 

“Don’t apologise. There is nothing for you to be sorry for,” Loki murmurs into you hair, giving the top of your head with a kiss. His evergreen smell and his even breathing lull you into a sense of security, slowing luring you into a dreamless and restful sleep. Thunder claps in the distance. 

 

It starts pouring the next day. Not normal spring showers, but torrents of water battering against the earth. You stare out the kitchen window at the changing landscape.

 

“The rain is a good thing, Appleberry.” Gram says as she places a bowl of oatmeal in front of you, “Always a good thing.” 

 

You love rain. You love the way it smells in the summer, when it’s cool and forgiving against the death orb you call the sun. But this rain felt  _ wrong _ , so gut wrenchingly wrong that you can’t even hide your skittishness against it. You begged Loki to do your chores so you wouldn’t have to go out and risk touching the water.

 

“Gram,” You try to keep your voice even, “I haven’t seen Albert all day. He’s always ready to eat his breakfast.” 

 

Your grandmother’s mouth stretches into a thin smile, “I’m sure he’s fine. Albert has many tricks up his sleeve, he’s plenty smart. He is  _ your _ cat after all.”

 

She doesn’t reassure you. 

 

“I think we should head back to the grocery store.” Loki says when he returns from the barn, popping a grape into his mouth, “No one’s working in the field and we need supplies for our… project.”

 

Any remaining good feelings inside of you this morning dies off. But Loki is correct, you don’t even know where to begin with this situation, and he probably does. You finish your breakfast and make a half assed excuse to be off with Loki in town. By knowing glances between grandparents, they think that the two of you are going out on a date. 

 

Technically, you muse, this could be considered a date. If a certain vicious presence wasn’t looming over your head, this could be a very romantic outing. Whenever you think about  _ Him _ , your insides shrivel up and you want to cry. But Loki touches your hand, giving you a small smile. That makes you stand up straighter with more resolve. 

 

The thought of going out in the rain still makes you curl up your lip in distaste, but to get to the car you have to walk through the storm. You put on your bright yellow raincoat and neon boots, pulling the hood over your hand and tucking your hands inside the sleeves. You wait for Loki to start unlock the truck before bolting, almost slipping in the mud in your haste. 

 

You jump into the car, ripping off your rain gear and throwing it in the back, trying to dry off the wet splotch on your shirt by blasting the warm air from the vents onto it. Loki doesn’t say anything about your mood, but he’s careful to brush some stray water away on your leather armrest for you. 

 

“First stop?” You ask him. 

 

“I suspect there’s a ‘public library’ somewhere around here?” He responds, starting the engine. 


	19. Tracy? Robert? Caroline? Whatever the Hell Your Name is?

Crowley’s public library is not terrible, surprisingly. You’ve been there several times, looking for expensive textbooks on subjects that no one in this forgotten corner of a town cares about. And they have some remarkable, new science books that you’ve most certainly exploited. 

 

When you walk in, you notice a gaggle of school girls in the corner. Three of them are okay. The other four you don’t want to acknowledge the existence of. You and Loki go near the back, to a table obscured by stuffy record books. Setting your stuff down, you ask Loki what exactly the two of you are looking for. 

 

“We need books on witchcraft.” He states, placing his jacket on the back of his chair the way he sees you do. 

 

“I thought you said that magic is just a higher science.” You try not to sound nervous. 

 

“It is,” He nods, “There are some real entities out there willing to lend you their energies for tasks. And I need to find the ones that reside in this town and are the most easy to access.” 

 

“Okay.” You nod as though you understand and help his gather the books he deems necessary.

 

The two of you sit down and start researching. Loki is busy looking over various books on the history of Crowley and Sugar Springs, trying to find a face that repeated throughout the centuries. You get your phone out and start researching via google about basic witch spells and exorcisms. You ask for a pencil and paper at the front desk and begin taking notes. 

 

_ Sage, holy water, stones, whatever, _ you scribble down, trying to take a crash course on practical everyday magic in a matter of hours. 

 

“Hey, that girl we met at the grocery store yesterday.” Loki mutters, sliding a newspaper from about twenty years ago to you, “She’s right here.” 

 

Tracy, looking the same age as last time you saw her, is posing next to the grocery store next to someone who was most definitely not human. Too pointed ears, too oddly tinted skin. His smile is gorgeous, his hair is ethereally perfect. Loki sees you squinting at the picture, “Describe him to me.” 

 

You do. Loki nods and says, “We’re going to have to give her a visit.” He looks down at the list you’ve made, “Where did you get those spells?”

 

You give him a smile, “Tumblr, the greatest source for modern witchcraft.” You stand and start gathering your things, “We need to go back to the store any and get some things. Let’s go talk to Tracy.”

 

It’s still pouring when you go outside, back to the car. Loki drives two minutes to the grocery store while you continue to browse tumblr for its spells, you even message questions to  _ Fire_Wicca_of_the_ South, _ one of the wiccan tumblr users who is currently online. You put your phone away as Loki parks out in front of the store. 

 

“Ready?” Loki asks.

 

You take a deep breath, “Let’s go.”

 

The two of you run into the store, dripping with rain tinged with the smell of rot. The cashier isn’t on the checkout table, but you spot her near the back observing a bright red, oozing stain. She’s humming to herself as she swipes her finger across the damp wall, turning around and frowning at the content she picked up. She’s wearing a faded pink shirt with the store’s logo printed on the front, threadbare especially around the hem and collar. 

 

“Um, hello?” You ask, glancing down at her name tag. Today it reads  _ Robert; Human Resources. _ “Robert?” 

 

Her dark eyes glance up and around you and Loki. Her face scrunches in distaste. “What.” 

 

“I was wondering if you could help us find some things,” Loki says smoothly, handing her a list to gauge her reaction. She snatches the paper and reads over the writing, her eyes widening. Her long hair seems to move to an unfelt breeze, her pupils dilating to almost black. For a single second, you can see panic wash over her features. 

 

“We don’t carry black obsidian.” The moment is gone, she slams the note back into Loki’s chest. You can almost hear his ribs breaking. “You know where all the fresh herbs are,  _ Jotun. _ Get your shit and get the hell out.” 

 

“Robert-” You try, “Robert, please help.” 

 

“No.” She’s getting a mop from behind the checkout counter and wheeling a bucket towards the stain on the wall. 

 

“There’s a presence here, something unmistakably evil,” Loki explains, “And I’m afraid that the two of us are insufficient for banishing it. We need a third who is familiar with the rules of this land.” 

 

Robert ignores him, scrubbing the walls with the mop. There’s a low rumble in the ground, and as the blood begins to wash away, you see something fleshy embedded in the wall. 

 

Loki and you glance at each other nervously. He clears his throat, and says calmly as he can muster,  _ “Robert, _ please. If you want this wyrm to continue harming others, then we don’t do anything. Can you feel it in the air? Somethings something wrong with this town. It’s buried so deep inside its roots that the only way to stop it is to burn the poison out _.” _

 

Robert’s actions slow. She places the mop in the bucket and turns, looking over you with her lips in a thin line. “A wyrm.” She echoes Loki’s term slowly, ignoring the soft pulsing light almost obscured from the wall. 

 

“That’s what I believe it is; an evil spirit preying on minds.” Loki says, “The soul of a criminal who’s malicious nature has not passed on, perhaps due to his violent death.” He places an arm around you protectively, “And it needs to be taken care of.” 

 

Robert looks over at the herbal section of the produce aisle. You blink and she’s suddenly standing over the herbs, moving across the space of the store in less than a second. She’s grabbing different leaves, sniffing, hissing, and muttering to herself. You and Loki look at each other nervously, both unsure of whether or not Robert means to help.

 

“Here. On the house.” Robert appears in front of you, a handful of greens shoved into your face, “And your list is wrong. You need to go to Sugar Springs, there’s a wiccan shop on the corner of Cecil and Palmer. They’ll have at least some of the stones you need.” She whisks to the cashier counter, bending over and digging around. 

 

You and Loki approach her cautiously. She pops back up with a large necklace around her neck, “Nevermind, nevermind. I’ll show you.” She says, “Open the door.” 

 

“What?” You ask, confused by her spastic behavior. 

 

“Open the front door and let me out.” Robert repeats slowly, her eyes glinting pale in the light. 

 

Loki walks over to the automatic door and stomps on the mat. The doors hiss open.

 

Robert hesitantly takes a step out of the shop, looking up at the sky. A drop of rain lands on her skin, making a sizzling sound. Robert steps out into the rain fully, steam enveloping her body as the water burns against her skin. She doesn’t make any pained sounds, instead she starts laughing hysterically. You and Loki glance at each other again, questioning whether or not this is the most intelligent of ideas.

 

 Robert turns back to look at the both of you. “What are you cherry fucks doing? I call shotgun!” 

 

Loki takes a deep breath and heads out to the car. You wait just for a second before following. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! I'm taking some time off for Christmas, so no chapter for the next couple of days. I need to get my creative juices flowing again. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! We're getting closer and closer to the end.


	20. Everyone is terrified of Robert. I am. You are. The Wicca are.

Robert gets that car all steamy in a very unsexy way. 

 

The raindrops that soaked into the fabric of her clothes were taking a longer time to dry out, giving the air inside the truck a fine layer of mist. You are already skittish about the rain, now you’re stuck breathing in the water vapor from it, and sitting in the back because Robert insisted on sitting shotgun. 

 

All in all, not a great day. 

 

Loki follows Robert’s directions to get to Sugar Springs, but besides her occasional “Go left,” or “Turn right,”, the car is quiet. You stare out the window and wish briefly that you could drive, but given your condition, everyone decided it was better to keep you from the wheel. Robert is staring out the window, her attention rapt against the passing landscape. Though you can’t really see anything more than two feet from the car, because the rain hasn’t shown any signs of letting up. 

 

Loki drives slow and cautiously, ignoring Robert’s sporadic barks to go faster. Eventually, the three of you roll into downtown Sugar Springs, a bunch of tiny little family businesses lining the streets. Robert points to a shop on the corner of a crossroads, “There.” 

 

_ Eos Apothecary and White Magick, _ reads the facade on top of the building, a smaller logo appearing on the window by the shop door. The LED  _ We’re Open! _ sign is off, not a good omen. “I think it’s closed.” You try to squint at the hours pasted on the glass door. Even though Loki parks fairly close, you can’t make out the words through the storm. 

 

“I have a key.” Robert states, bringing her necklace to view and twisting it around. Along with several rune and moon charms, you see she’s telling the truth. That just leaves more questions you want to ask but you keep your mouth shut as she opens the door and the violent steaming continues. 

 

“Should we follow her?” You whisper to Loki as she runs up to the store and starts fiddling with the lock. Robert’s skin makes a thick fog around the storefront, obscuring her movements. You’re not sure if this would count as breaking and entering. 

 

“I think we’re too far to turn back now.” He pulls the keys from the ignition. The steam dissipates as Robert must have rangled the door open and disappeared inside. You take a deep breath, pulling the fabric of your raincoat tighter around you before opening the door. You bolt inside, Loki close at your heels. 

 

The inside of the store smells like a cacophony of essential oils, none of them somehow clashing with each other. You feel your throat clear up and your eyesight sharpen. The inside of the shop is dim, but Robert has lit a few candles to counteract that. She’s already raiding a center table with stones, mumbling as she digs through them. You watch her, almost half terrified and fascinated as she weighs a stone, looks at its color, then sniffs, and licks it. All of those actions happen within a few seconds, and occasionally she’ll set one aside. 

 

Her neck snaps up, she’s clearly annoyed. “What are you waiting for? Get your herbs!” 

 

You and Loki scramble to do her bidding. You open tumblr on your phone and start messaging your wiccan again, asking her for any last minute ideas or advice.  _ Four candles, one red, yellow, blue, and green for the Four Quarters. Marking your circles is unnecessary but considered safer.  _

 

“Um, how do we pay for these?” You ask, setting a small pile of stuff by the checkout counter to be bagged. The rain pounds against the roof, almost giving this a cozy feeling. 

 

“We don’t.” Robert says cheerfully, grabbing a cast iron cauldron with a pentagram and throwing the stones into it. She lifts up a forgotten nametag by the money drawer. “ _ Oceania _ . How horribly pretentious,” She snickers, pocketing it. 

 

Someone coughs at the door. All three of you turn to see a very pissed off looking guy, your age. He has tribal tattoos along his caramel neck, the rest trailing down into his clothes. His eyes are hard and angry, his long brown hair down to his back. He crosses his arms and says, coldly, “What do you think you’re-” His voice trails off when he makes eye contact with Robert. 

 

“Micah.” Robert drags out the last vowel of the name, sounding utterly thrilled to see him. She hands you the bag of stuff she stashed and her smile grows wide, wider than a normal human smile. “Micah, Micah, Micah.” 

 

Micah does not share the utterly thrilled enthusiasm see  _ her _ . “Someone has to pay for those.” He says, taking a step back, eyes darting from you to Loki. You can see him try to formulate something inside his mind, to call a calvary of some kind. His eyes narrow when they meet Loki’s, as though he can sense an otherworldly aura from him. 

 

Robert cocks her head at him in a very unnatural angle, “Do we now.” 

 

You can see the exact moment in his eyes when Micah decides to cut his losses. He uncrosses and then recrosses his arms, his mouth twitching downward. “Just… don’t take anything of too much value.” 

 

“Oh, certainly.” Robert purrs, ‘accidentally’ knocking down a marble statue of Artemis. Micah winces as it breaks on the ground. Loki’s eyes dart between the two of them, trying to pinpoint the reason for the burning animosity, you can see the synapses rapidly firing in his brain. He takes a deep breath, and puts on one of his most charismatic smiles.

 

“Micah, you said you name was? Nice to meet you,” Loki awkwardly shakes the other man’s hand (you still think he doesn’t much like that tradition), “I’m Loki, I’m sure you know who she is,” He gestures to you. Of course everyone knows you, or at least knows  _ about _ you. Everyone within a one hundred mile radius know about that night and what followed after, and you can see that Micah is no different. His eyes travel over your face, and down your body, coming to rest on where your scar is. You self consciously tug at your shirt. 

 

“I sold your grandparents the burn salve.” Micah states in explanation, and you faintly remember the minty oil they would spread on your burn to soothe the pain.  You press your lips together, wanting to avoid eye contact but also tired of your submissive behavior towards people who know about  _ that _ part of the story _. _ So you hold his gaze and will the tears to not come. 

 

Loki takes your hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, “Just wondering if you would be in the mood for an-”

 

“No.” Robert barks, “He’s not. He’s a coward like his father and wouldn’t dare dirty the family name further.” She gathers your bags and shoves them towards you, “We’re fine. Let’s go.” 

 

“But-” Loki starts, interrupted by a very angry Robert. Her pupils widen almost to the point of entering the whites of her eyes, and you can see her teeth sharpening and turning black.

 

“We leave.” 

 

Loki doesn’t try to argue further, so you follow her trail of steam back to the truck. She sits in the back this time, arms wrapped around her knees and scowling at the floor. Her dark hair is somehow a flawless mess, the groups of strands sticking to her body in all the right places. She won’t look at you when you set your bag of stuff next to her, or when you climb up in the front and buckle up. 

 

Micah is standing in front of the store when you leave, his mouth in a thin line. He’s not concerned about the things you took. If you close your eyes and breath, you can see the emotions rolling off of him. You can taste his fear of Robert, sharp and tangy. You touch his feelings about Loki, the shock at his alien presence. And you brush against his pity and curiosity for you,  _ for you. I know what you’re doing, _ he thinks to you. You open your eyes, you and Micah staring evenly at each other as Loki starts the engine and drives away.

 

Neither you or Loki say anything to each other the ride home , letting the awkward silence wash over the car. Loki’s fingers wrap around yours and squeeze, his emerald eyes taking a second off the road to give you a reassuring look.  _ Everything is fine,  _ he seems to say. He brings your hand to his mouth and gives it a kiss,  _ everything is fine. _

 

You roll up to your house, the rain eroding the dirt road. Loki is careful when he parks the car, skidding is too easy to do in this weather. “Where to first?” He asks, glancing at the light illuminating from your house’s windows. 

 

You take a deep breath, “We go in… Get something to eat… Then put together the ritual. And figure out where to perform it.” You know where it should be performed, deep down you know where His roots are. You can’t verbalize it yet without breaking down. 

 

Loki nods and the three of you head into your house with your stuff. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oki Doki, hope ya'll had a great Christmas/Hanukkah. Resuming writing until New Year's Eve/Day.


	21. Oh my fuckin god, he fuckin ded.

“Gram! I hope you don’t mind, I brought a friend.” You call, running the bags of occult goodies upstairs before either of your grandparents can see them. 

 

When you come back downstairs, you see Gram has the biggest smile on her face. She’s talking with Robert, taking extra aggressive care to be the most excellent hostess she can be. “Tea? Cookies?” She turns to you, a hint of tears in her eyes, “Why don’t you come help me get your friends some snacks?” 

 

“Um, okay.” You set your phone down next to Loki and follow her into the kitchen, “Are you okay?” 

 

“Yes, oh my goodness.” Gram looks only a few seconds from crying, “I promised myself not to fall apart if this happened.” She gets out a platter and starts arranging crackers in a fancy circle.

 

“Care to elaborate?” You’re almost scared to ask, grabbing a cutting board and working on slicing apples into eighths. You let the sound of the blade hitting the flesh of the fruit soothe your nerves. 

 

“Friends.” Gram gestures out to the living room where Loki and Robert sit. “You’ve been so alone for so long, I know that sometimes people are mean to you. It’s so wonderful to see you getting along with your peers.” 

 

“Oh,” You say in a high pitched voice, “Oh, that.” You glance out the window, trying to think of a good way to spin your standing relationship with the grocery clerk.  _ We’re going to perform a very dangerous ritual to banish the soul of the evil spirit that killed my mother and hurt me _ did not seem like something that Gram would be fine with. Your mind races, and you suddenly click together a half assed but decent story.

 

 “There’s an online game that’s sort of like Dungeons and Dragons,” You carefully place the apples in cute, aesthetically pleasing rings on the platter, “And we’re creating a team of characters together. We thought it would be good for us to create the team dynamic in person, then set up our first, um,”  you can’t remember the correct term, “Battle thing.” 

 

“That’s nice!” Though it’s obvious that Gram has only a vague idea of what you’re talking about (which counts as a blessing), but she’s very enthusiastic for you. You feel a kick of guilt in your gut, but you tell yourself that everything is going to be fine once He’s gone. Gram places a small bowl of caramel onto the platter and you take it to the small, wooden coffee table that sits in the middle of the living room. 

 

“So we need to start by figuring out the patron spirits that will be watching over us,” Loki says, careful to avoid saying anything that would slip up your lie. He slides your laptop towards you and gets a paper and notebook ready.

 

“So we need to draw a circle of protection,” You say, showing the notes of what you already know,  “And ask for the presence of the Four Quarters. The different color candles each represents one. We need to figure out which way is north so we can properly set it up.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Robert says, playing with her gravity defying hair, “Tell me some new information and I’ll look more invested.”

 

You close your eyes and do your best to be patient with her. “So do you want to share your ideas, then?” 

 

“Well, we’re dealing with a twisted spirit who, the Jotun tells me, died violently. We need to banish his soul to the beyond and make sure his presence hasn’t left a stain on the earth.” Robert says, drawing extra lines in between the notebook pages.

 

“Leaving a stain on the earth?” That’s new information, she may be infuriating to deal with but you’re kind of glad to have her help. You reach over and pluck an apple slice from the platter, your stomach growling from the long day you’ve had.

 

“It’s when a presence is so strong that it leaves echos of itself behind,” Robert explains, shifting so she’s sitting cross legged on the floor, “The echos aren’t as bad as the ghost itself but you probably don’t want to deal with them.”

 

“So,” Loki says slowly, “Why don’t you give us an idea of how the ritual should be performed?” 

 

 “‘Well, like she said,” Robert nods at you, “We need a circle of protection to preform. We ask the Four Quarters, Lady, and Lord to watch over our ritual. We can ask some druids to give us their blessing for banishing the creature tarnishing this land.” She reaches into her pocket and tosses some herbs onto the table, “We each need to make a special mix of magick tea to help strengthen our… ugh, how would you say this?” She’s rolling her eyes straight up to the ceiling while she thinks of a good word, “Psyches. Maybe, souls? I don’t know. Basically the part of us that could be infected with the miasma from the wyrm.” 

 

“We could be infected?” You ask, trying not to let fear spread its icy grip over you again. 

 

“If we aren’t careful,” Robert yawns, unhinging her jaw and showing off her needle sharp teeth, “But I’m going to be there, so you guys don’t need to worry about that.”

 

“I feel so safe.” Loki says in a tone hinting that he wants to be sarcastic but also enjoys living. He reaches underneath the coffee table and takes your hand, “And this is something that we can do tonight?”

 

Robert licks caramel off her finger, raising it and closing her eyes. “The wind feels nice, but the moon isn’t full. Doesn’t matter, it only helps with wand making and moon magic.” 

 

“So we do this. Tonight.” You repeat, blown away at how close you are to banishing your demon once and for all. 

 

“We start the circle at around eleven, so the main spell can be said and over by midnight. The evil will be cleansed as a new day begins.” Robert states. 

 

“Well that settles that.” Loki squeezes your hand. A loud knock startles you from your thoughts, coming from the front door. 

 

“I’ll get it!” You shout to Gram, who is in the kitchen preparing dinner. Something sick stabs at your insides, but you ignore it as you unlock the deadbolt. Slowly, you turn the nob and crack the door open. No one is outside, but there’s something small and furry on the wood, laid out before the stairs. You step outside, the porch protecting you from the rainfall as your vision focuses on the thing in front of you.

 

A small, bloodied paw. A small, bloody paw from a cat that you know, the paw you taught to give high fives for treat and that touches your foot when you’re stressed. 

 

You can’t breathe.

 

_ You can’t breathe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, this is where things -get serious-.


	22. Yeah I got nothing

Your eyes black out, you can’t see anything, you can’t breathe you can’t  _ breathe you can’t fucking breathe. _ Someone is screaming. Is it you? Is it Gram? You’re soaking wet, you must have stepped out in the rain. 

 

Rage is sparking inside of you, something that you’ve never felt before. An unimaginable darkness churns in your stomach, you’ve never wanted to kill, but suddenly your fingers are itching for murder. You need blood.

 

You’re panting. Have you been running? You can’t remember. The dry smell of dust and wood fills your nostrils. You blink, looking around and trying to see where you are. It’s like you’re suddenly waking up from a lucid dream, something that you were able to control but memory of what just happened fading rapidly. You recognize this place, this decrepit reminder of what happened all those years ago.

 

You haven’t been back to the old barn since the night of the fire. The damage itself hadn’t warranted the new barn, the memories of what happened here did. Grampa and Gram both agreed that it would be better to rebuild a newer barn closer to the house than remodel the old one with the constant reminder of what happened. The inside is fairly dry, holes in the ceiling sparsely spread. Old straw was decomposing into dust on the floor, you turn to see your footprints, the only human tracks, on the ground. The rest are tiny animals, and one… one…

 

It looks like something cat-sized was dragged through the main entrance, a long trail through the dust. You follow it, your eyes traveling quickly to where the fire pit that heated the brand marks its place in the floor, chard wood from the flames still laying in the hole. And Albert. 

 

You calmly walk back outside to vomit. 

 

Albert’s eyes had been gouged out, bloody sockets the only thing remaining in his skull. His front fangs have also been ripped from his gums, leaving his mouth almost bare. His stomach is cut open, his intestines spilling out on the floor. A bloody stump where his paw used to be, the rip more grotesque than what was delivered on your doorstep. With the sickening jolt, you realize that someone must have taken care to groom and clip the removed paw into immaculate condition. 

 

You see static white. Something inside you rumbles, thirsting for vengeance that can only be satisfied with destruction. You clench your fists at your sides, power vibrating from your fingertips. “Where are you?” You demand calmly, walking around the fire pit like a bird of prey circling her meal, “Where could you be?” Fear has overstimulated your body to the point of erasing everything. You feel nothing.  _ But you aren’t nothing. _

 

You sense His presence observing you, rising from the damp ground like some disgusting fungus. No more fear, no more anguish. All that’s left inside you is anger and pain that you are beyond ready to unleash upon him. 

 

“Too bad you don’t have a body,” Static edges your eyesight, you want to hurt him,  _ burn him to the ground, _ “I would love to desecrate it further now.” The taunt doesn’t satisfy you, you want to rip his arms off and make him eat them. Something inside you purrs at the thought of him choking on his own blood. 

 

He wasn’t handsome or in any kinds of attractive when he was alive. He’s more hideous dead, his twisted spirit materializing as a black, oily mass. His eyes are hollow, his mouth filled with layers upon layers of needle point teeth. You feel your courage falter just a fraction, this isn’t a just man you’re up against anymore. A man, a human, you know deep within you that there’s a power you could conjure to rip limbs from their sockets. But this is not a deprecated, putrid excuse for a man any longer. It’s manifesting as its soul in its most primordial form, showing its true self as a disgusting parasite that feeds and preys on the fear of the weak. 

 

You want to flee, but you stand your ground.  _ Kill it. Make it suffer, make it scream.  _ You want to hear it beg for mercy in its agony, you use this hatred to fuel your bravery. It hisses, spraying black, oily saliva at your feet. You scream back at it, taking a good step forward. It obviously was not expecting that and steps backward from you, either in fear and surprise. 

 

“Ha, that’s one way to do it,” Robert’s rather amused and unruffled voice announces her presence. Her sentence breaks your concentration as you glance over, her body obscured by the steam wildly wisping around her body, and Loki.  _ Loki. _ His hair is plastered on his face, his summer forest eyes are wide and crazed, you suddenly see the man in your dreams that stood over the ruined cityscape of NYC. His eyes are almost on fire, they no longer have their warm, loving aura and are tinged red, cold and calculating. The desperation, the determination. Aimed at you. 

 

“This is perf. You keep it entertained and Loki and I will do the banishing ceremony.”  Robert shouts, throwing the bag on the ground. She gets out the colored candles and starts making a circle, lining it with salt. You look over at Loki, nodding at him to help her and not you. His mouth twitches, concern for you obvious but he does as you wish and starts lighting the matches. You turn back and face your oppressor. 

 

It’s slowly regaining its hold on itself, your element of surprise only shocking it for the moment. You need to lead it away from the circle that’s being cast, so that Loki and Robert can do the ritual in relative peace. You take another step forward, clenching your hand into a fist and launching upwards, quickly. Your knuckles connect to Its gooey flesh in between Its eyes, the ooze soft and malleable against your skin and not that fantastic for dramatic punching. It stumbles back, surprised at your ferocity but won’t be stunned for long. 

 

Sure enough, It makes a shrieking sound that vibrates in your bones, the sounds rocketing from inside of It and blasting the crumbling skeleton of the barn. Then the slime around your fist sucks as It tries to pull your arm into Its body.  _ Fuck. Fuck.  _ You dig your heels into the dusty ground and pull, but the effort only lets It pull you in further. You hiss and stomp in frustration, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of terror flood back into your system after you finally managed to squash it. It hisses, a sound reminiscent of laughter. 

 

Then you feel it again. The purring whisper inside you, the small, childlike voice that offers pain to those who harmed you. Use it. Use it.  _ Use it. _ You close your eyes, searching inside you for its source. In your mind, a small portion that’s pulsing with life. Something that everyone has but most are asleep, slumbering within. Yours is awake, it’s always been awake,  refusing to accept the lies that beings try to craft into reality, always hearing dangerous intentions of those who want to strike you down, ready and  _ begging _ to be used and accepted in your soul. 

 

You hold it, you breathe into it, you tease that part of you from its spot and bring it out, using it to charge your body, using it to power parts of you that you didn’t know  _ and always knew _ existed. You open your eyes. You stare at those soulless sockets, you feel your arm squished against god knows what, you smell its rotten stench. You feel. You exist. You live.

 

You open the palm that’s being pulled into It, and you push your energy forth. You feel how reality bends around you, how when you push your energy, you push the fabric of space. It shrieks as you shove violently, Its body exploding in in the direction of your movement. 

 

“Holy shit!” Robert yells appreciatively, “Keep that up!” Loki makes a strangled noise beside her, but you don’t turn to look at either of their faces. You focus on the enemy before you as pieces of Itself regroup and reform, turning into an even more grotesque version of Itself than before, towering above you. 

 

“Time to die, you fucking son of a man-whore.” You mutter, holding your ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, are we coming to a close? Yes, we are. How surprising is that? It's going to be anything between two to four chapters left, depending on how I wrap up the story. Enjoy!


	23. Let's fucking do this, fellow skanks.

“Alright Jotun boy, let’s see what you can do!” Robert barks at Loki, handing him a ceremonial blade called an athame. She strikes a match and places it on the green candle, saying, “Guardians of the North, element of the earth, I call upon thee to be present during this ritual. Please join us now and bless this circle.” She slides Loki the notebook and aggressively taps the next part that needs to be recited. 

 

Loki takes the still burning match from her, trying very hard not to turn around and watch you awaken your powers, “Guardians of the East, element of air, I call upon thee to be present during this ritual. Please join us now and bless this circle.” His voice carries power, reverberating in the air. He feels the breeze pick up, not coming from the outside storm but actually moving against the gails. 

 

You shout something in the background, it takes all of Loki’s attention to not snap around and help you fight the disgusting creature alongside you. Your powers are manifesting themselves beautifully, though he wishes he could have trained you before your first fight. Your pissed but victorious screaming lets him know you’re holding your own so far. He grits his teeth and stares at the candle

 

Robert tries to light another match, but the rain leaks in from the roof and drenches the both of them. Steam bursts from her skin and she audibly hisses with frustration. The two candles stay lit despite water pooling around the flame. She touches the red candle with her finger, and it bursts to life on its own. Loki makes a note to try to find out the full extent of this person’s powers later.

 

“Guardians of the south,” Robert says, her tone strong and confident, “Element of fire, I call upon thee to be present during this ritual. Please join us now and bless this circle.”

 

The wyrm roars in anger. There’s a loud thump, you groan in pain. Loki tries to look at you but feels his head being pushed back in place. The steam around Robert’s head dissipates, giving her the ability to fix Loki with her disapproving glare. Black tendrils are extending from her back, wisping around the circle to him, locking his gaze in place. “We help her by finishing the ritual!” She yells over the fight and storm. Thunder explodes overhead, the center of the storm firmly upon you. 

 

Loki can’t remember the last time his hands shook this violently. Perhaps back when he was trying to contact his brother, or perhaps it was when Hela caught him with the communication crystal. Fear for himself has always been pulsing behind his eyes, a constant terror at doing the wrong thing and getting himself killed. A second time. This feeling is so primordially integrated in himself that he can taste the ashy memories of the Before when he felt fear this strong. Except now it’s no longer for his self preserving abilities to sharpen, it’s the innate and impossible need for  _ you. _

 

He manages to scrap together some energy from his reserves and light the blue candle with his mind, the water causing the wick to spark angrily in the clash of two opposites. “Guardians of the East, element of water, I call upon thee to be present in this ritual. Please join us now and bless this circle.” His voice isn’t as strong as it was just a moment ago. 

 

Robert takes a bag of herbs and salt, cutting the corner open and adding another layer of salt surrounding them in a circle. She reaches into the pockets of her shorts, unsheathing a wicked looking blade that was longer than seemed possible to fit in a woman’s jean pocket. The handle is mahogany, the metal so dark gray it looks almost black. It’s double edged, the center stamped with a rune that Loki is familiar with but can’t remember where he saw it before. Robert calmly hands it to him, pointing to the next step scribbled on the soging paper from the rain. 

 

Loki accepts the athame and stands, pointing it to the edge of the circle. Trying to follow the hastily written instructions that’s being washed away with the rain, he slowly turns clockwise. He keeps the point of the blade outward, directing the energy through his arm and out his tool to form the spiritual barrier. He spins again, then again. He stands still, feeling the energy filling his being and enforcing the edge of the circle like a force field. He feels the ground beneath him purify in the divine light that breaks from the clouds and shines upon him.

 

Robert announces, her voice ringing in the violent landscape like a bell from heaven, “God and Goddess, guardian angels, and spiritual guides, please be present with us in this ritual. Bless this circle and keep us protected, no unwanted entities are welcome here. Only pure, divine beings are invited into this space. The circle is cast.” Robert closes her eyes and faces the light of the churning heavens above, “So mote it be.”

 

He sees the violence of the storm, but now he sees it as though from a distance. Inside the circle the sounds from the outside are muffled, Loki can see the lighting strike the ground just outside the barn, hairline electricity carving paths into the air. Thunder roars, he sees you cover your ears to protect them from damage. The wyrm takes advantage of this, swiping one of its grotesque appendages out to whip you off your feet. 

 

You shriek as you land on your back in the mud, the wyrm slamming one of its feet beside you neck in victory. Rage burns inside Loki’s stomach, he rises to attack but Robert grips his neck in her hand and slams him back down. “Focus, dumbass!” She yells, “The real shit happens now.”

 

Loki turns to look just as you push with all your might, feeling the force of nature around you and gripping it, choking it, and bending it to your will. You grab onto the clouds above you and feel the energy about to burst forth. You tease it forward and direct it to the thing standing above you victoriously. The air cracks and everyone’s hair stands on end as the lightning explodes into the dark, miasmic being, blowing away its physical apparition. Chunks of its spirit fly in a huge radius, one particular tar-dripping piece slamming into the barrier that Loki and Robert made, bouncing off the invisible wall as though repelled. 

 

It tries recollecting itself, the pieces individually shaking and dragging back to where the wyrm once stood. You halfheartedly wave at the two in the circle, trying to put Loki’s mind at ease. Occasionally you stomp on a wriggling piece of flesh when it comes too close to your body. The wyrm rebuilds, only half of what it previously was and shrieking in pain and terror. If Loki were not so stressed at the moment he figures he might be aroused. 

 

“Trust me, lover boy!” Robert yells, over to muted din, “I’ve met a lot of psychics in the past, and this one can definitely hold her own. Get down here and help me.” 

 

Loki doesn’t argue this time. 

 

He grabs the bottle of Holy Water that they picked up at the shop and sprinkled some of the liquid over the salt to add purification to the ground around them. 

 

“This is where things get difficult,” Robert says calmly, holding her hands out for some holy water to be sprinkled onto them. The water hisses and steams worse than usual on her skin, and Loki notes some sores that could possibly be burns dotting the skin of her hands, “Once I start the exorcism, the wyrm is going to drop your girlfriend over there and do everything in its power to stop me. You need to hold the barrier of the circle so I can finish.”

 

Loki nods once. His entire body is flooding with an unknown energy, he keeps directing it to the circumference. He isn’t familiar with the higher powers here, the light flowing through him feels alien and strange, but powerful and old. Older than the powers of Asgard, even. He faintly recalls a volcanic entity he pledged himself to when he was trying to escape from literal Hel, but unlike the raw and vicious power that had almost torn his decently immortal body apart, this was gentle. Understanding. If he pulled back and asked it to stop he knows that it would. 

 

Robert stands in the center of the circle, arms outstretched and eyes dark. One might assume that her eyes were soulless, with the look of cold rage and determination storming within them, but Loki would argue that there is too much soul inside of her. She’s her own battery, one of the main driving forces behind this exorcism. She closes her eyes and begins to recite, “Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite cernunnos regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia.”

 

Whatever is left of the creature whips his head towards the circle, the neck of it cracking in a very uncomfortable way. It opens its half formed mouth and screams, guttural and wild, blood and puss from any failed connected flesh sprays towards them. The wyrm tries to move its festering arm forward, but its deformities limit its movement to a half limp on the leg that can hold its weight, the other half having to be dragged along the dirt. You yell at it, trying to get its attention. 

 

“Caeli Deus, Dues terrae, humiliter majestati gloriae tuae supplicamus ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate,” Robert’s voice stays strong, despite the wriggling creature trying to squiggle towards them faster, its maw opening and snapping for their blood, “Laqueo, and deceptione nequitia, omnis fallaciae, libera nos, dominates exorcizamus you omnis immundus spiritus.” 

 

You try to yank it back to you with your energy, but the stress of it aiming towards your friends causes you to slip up, your powers flitting away from your grasp. You only manage to deter its movements slightly. 

 

“Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis and congregatio secta diabolica.” 

 

It crashes into the side of the circle, hissing and screeching to be let in. Loki holds his ground and glares at the wyrm, the last shell of a man whose sole purpose in life was to create and feed on the terror around him.  _ You once struck fear into the heart of the weak and strong, _ Hela once murmured in his ear,  _ You were unstoppable, wrought chaos and suffering in your wake.  _ And yet, even though the Goddess of Death herself raised him, Loki is nothing but a shallow comparison of his former self. Some gods or spirits of irony are probably laughing their collective asses off. Loki,Trickster God, an evil creature was raised by a loving mother. But when he was raised by a terrifying force more evil than he, what is he doing now? 

 

“Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, dominates, ut coven tuam secura tibi libertate servire facias, te rogamus, audi nos!” 

 

He stares at the wyrm as you manage to get a hold on your power again, dragging it back towards you with murder in your eyes. Lightning struck the skeleton of a tree behind you, bright blue and violet light haloing your body in a saintly pose. The rain plasters your hair to your face, a layer of mud covering the lower half of your body and back. You hands are in fists, your legs planted firmly in the ground. You are terrifying. You are beautiful. 

 

“Ut inimicos sanctae circulae humiliare digneris, te rogamus audi nos! Terribilis Deus sanctuario suo, cernunnos ipse truderit virtutem plebi suae Aradia ipse fortitudinem plebi Suae.” 

 

The wyrm hisses, scratching for perch as you yank him out through the slippery dirt. You wrap your energy around, beneath its body and you shove it upward. It sails through the air, landing in the ground a few paces away from the barn. The mud splashes at the impact, the wyrm growls and grunts in pain. You give a war cry and jump after it, away from Loki’s view. 

 

“Benedictus Deus, Gloria Patri, Benedictus Dea, Matri gloria!” Robert yells the last part. 

 

The wyrm screams in pain, its body rising into the air and glowing from the inside. The light illuminates your face. Loki glances at you questioningly, and you shake your head. You're not the one doing this. The forgotten pieces of the wyrm that didn’t return to its body along with the rest also raise from the ground and glow, shaking with energy. The ground rumbles, and you can almost make out four beings standing around the wyrm as it writhes and shrieks, its body being burned away from the inside. It’s skin and meat rip from its bones, the body being mangled and twisted and dissolved. A small tornado sprouts from the ground, sucking and pulling the torn body of the wyrm down into the earth. 

 

Light explodes from the center of the storm. Thunder cracks. Loki shields his eyes, and when he opens them again, the wyrm is gone. 


	24. The Aftermath of this Bullshit

The rain slows to a stop, the clouds parting to show off a beautiful country sunset washed in reds and purples. You stare at the sky and take a deep, deep breath, filling your lungs with the cleansed air.  Not only is the wyrm is gone, but the presence that’s been hanging over your head is empty as well. You can see, you can breathe. 

 

You turn to face Loki and Robert, both of who are putting the candles and tools away in their bags. You grin, though something deep down still feels unsettled. That was it? That couldn’t have been it. But Robert nods at you as though sensing your stress. The wyrm is gone, and the land has been cleansed.

 

Loki’s standing, walking over to you. His face is a painting of relief, his eyes back to their warm green and dancing over your body to see if you’re hurt. He holds you in his arms, squeezing your ribs and raising you to your tippy toes. He rocks you back and forth and buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent.  _ You’re alright, _ you feel him think, _ you’re alright. _

 

Someone screams. 

 

You and Loki turn to see the source of the noise, and see Gram and Grampa standing at the edge of the barn, Gram looking in the old fire pit at the corpse of Albert. Oh, shit. You glance up at Robert, who thankfully had the sense to hide the athame and other herbs that might have pinned this on the three of you doing occult sacrifices. 

 

To deflect blame further, you stumble forward and start bawling your eyes out. “I-I-I f-found him. H-e’s not b-br-breathing!” It’s not all an act, you haven’t had time to fully mourn Albert until now. Tears rain from your cheeks and drip from your chin, “So-someone hurt him!” 

 

“Oh, oh, baby.” Gram coos, wrapping the babbling mess that is you in her arms. She pets your hair and holds you tight, trying to summon comforting words to calm you down. “It’ll be alright,” She doesn’t believe a word she says to you, “It’ll be alright.” 

 

Grampa walks along the fire pit, shaking his head at Albert’s mangled corpse, “It’s those damn kids,” He snarls, pointing at the circle of salt by the entrance, “Those damn kids who run around the town thinking they run the place. Look at this shit!”

 

“Charles!” Gram admonished, “Please!” You cry a little louder, probably getting mud all over Gram’s sweater. You realize that you aren’t even wearing shoes, your bare feet squishing in the wet ground. 

 

“I think that maybe we should go inside,” Loki says, the voice of reason behind you all, “And perhaps call the authorities.” 

 

“Loki’s right,” Gram nods, “Let’s go back to the house and get you cleaned up.” 

 

‘Getting you cleaned up’ consists of you standing in front of the house and getting hosed down. Robert is very happy to be the one spraying you with water, trying different pressures to wash the mud caked to your legs while Gram hunts for a robe you can throw on when you take off your clothes. Loki is with Grampa in the living room, calling the sheriff over. 

 

The stream strays close to your face. “Robert!” You bark, then end up getting a mouth full of water. Robert laughs like that’s the funniest thing in the world while you sputter indignantly. You stomp your feet in the wet grass, trying to be firm but feel like a five year old on a tantrum. She does it again, and you’re one more spray away from chasing her down to waterboard her. 

 

Gram comes back outside, the old screen door creaking at her exit. She hasn’t changed her clothes, the embrace the two of you shared staining the front of her outfit.  “Alright, here you are.” Gram says, handing you one of her older robes that probably hasn’t been used since ‘75, and you carefully peel your clothes back from your skin. Gram clucks her tongue at the nasty bruises covering your side, your leg, and your shin. 

 

“I fell down.” You sort of lie to explain the injuries. 

 

“Poor girl,” Gram wraps you up in her robe, “My poor girl.” 

 

The loss of Albert gives you a lump in your throat, and you try to keep your chin from trembling. A spray of water smacks you in the face again, causing you to choke and gasp.

 

“Sorry,” Robert says, not sounding sorry at all, “I lost control of the hose.” 

 

You go upstairs to shower, washing the remaining mud and grime off your body, staring listlessly at the water running down the sides of the shower wall. Your mouth tastes bitter, you open it and let the water run in to wash out the blood. You prod parts of your mouth with your tongue, finding that your gums and cheeks are tender. When you fell you must have cut them open. The steam enters your lungs, washing away any extra gunk that you might have picked up. 

 

Either your imagination is running away again or your scar has faded slightly. Maybe it’s just your perception of reality now that your tormenter is gone, maybe his hold on you has faded with his exorcism. But it’s still there, still prominent against your skin. A reminder of what happened. But you know what? It’s no longer going to be a reminder of weakness. It’s going to be a reminder of how you rose above and destroyed the creature that ruined your life. 

 

Tears mix with the shower water. 

 

When you go back downstairs, the sheriff is in your living room talking with Loki and your grandparents. Robert is nowhere to be seen. You cross your arms and sit next to Loki on the couch, listening to Gram and Grampa trying to explain what had happened. Finally, the sheriff turns to you for your story. You can feel him suspicious of  _ you, _ thinking that you had finally lost it and tortured your own cat. Anger builds in your throat, you grab Loki’s hand tightly to keep from leaping up and strangling that stupid man. 

 

“Someone cut off his paw,” You say slowly, “And left it on the front porch for me to find.” 

 

“And you’re the only one who answered the door?” The sheriff purses his too thin lips, arching his eyebrows condescendingly. 

 

“So what,” Loki jumps to your defenses, “You’re saying that she quickly ran outside, dropped the paw off and knocked on the front door, then ran back inside through the back door, and jumped up to answer?” 

 

The sheriff’s eyes narrow at him, “Your words, not mine, little sir.” 

 

“Are you joking?” Gram snaps, “She was in town all day with Loki, and Albert’s body is,” She glances at you apologetically, “Fresh.”

 

“How do you know that those two weren’t worshipping the devil together?” The sheriff smiles like he’s won the argument, and continues talking as though you and Loki aren’t in the room, “You don’t know anything about that boy, and giving your track record with ranch hands-”

 

“That is  _ enough, _ Marcus!” Grampa roars, his eyes aflame with fury. He points to the door, threat undertones in his body language, “Get the hell out of my house.” 

 

The sheriff holds up his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” On the way out the front door, he gives you and Loki the evil eye as if to say  _ I’ll be watching you. _

 

“I’m sorry,” Gram frets, wringing her hands, “I’ll start dinner.” 

 

“I’m not hungry.” You say, standing up and going straight to bed. You sleep without dreams, probably because your day has been a nightmare enough already. When you wake up the next day, you go downstairs to find Loki sitting in the dining room with your grandparents, a feast of a breakfast laid out for you on the table. 

 

“Wow.” Is all you can muster, and even though you feel like you shouldn’t have an appetite, your stomach rumbles with joy at the sight of all that food. You sit down across from Loki, right next to Gram and you let her make you a plate. 

 

Loki clears his throat, “I used the internet to search for pet funerals. There’s a vet in Sugar Springs that will help us cremate Albert’s remains.” 

 

You stare at the plate Gram set in front of you, picking at the food with your fork, “Okay.” Your voice is small, because anything more and they’ll hear the cracking from all the crying you did this morning. 

 

“And,” Gram adds, she and Grampa glancing at each other, “We can go to the city in about a week. There’s a big animal shelter over there, maybe we can pick out a new friend for you.” 

 

You push the food back and forth on the plate, willing tears not to come. You nod sharply once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright! Everything is almost finished. Two more chapters and I am taking a smug vacation. If you have any requests for the future, please let me know in the comments. I enjoy writing. I enjoy making other people suffer through art.


	25. All's Well That Ends Well

You’re in the grocery store, gathering food for Alberts vigil feast. Today the clerk’s name tag read  _ Pam, Programs Assistant, _ so you greet her accordingly. “Hey, Pam.”

 

“How have you been?” Strangely, she sounds like she means it, no sarcastic or snide undertones  in her sentence. Pam looks a little more healthy, pink in her cheeks and her eyes not looking so dead. You still don’t know what exactly she is, but you feel like you haven't reached the tier of friendship yet where you can ask. 

 

“Keeping it together, albeit barely.” You respond, grabbing a basket, “Thanks for your help that night. I was wondering if you wanted to come to Albert’s funeral.” 

 

“Well-” Pam starts to say, interrupted by who else but Cheryl, storming into the store looking very unhappy. 

 

“How dare you threaten my son!” She yells, her bright red lipstick too orange for her face, “How dare you! I will have you fired right away, you little skank!” Her eyes travel to the only other person in the store; you. Her lip curls with distaste as she takes you in, heavy circles under your eyes and sallow skin from mourning. 

 

“Ma’am, if you could stop your tantrum I’m sure we could come to an agreement that your son is a punk ass bitch.” Pam says, looking thoroughly bored. She twists a piece of her hair in her finger, not looking threatened in the slightest as Cheryl’s face turns red with anger. 

 

“How  _ dare _ you,” She snarls, her perfectly blue eyes darkening, “I want to speak the manager.” 

 

Pam’s lips purse, not in a worried way but in an I- can’t- believe- this- bitch- is- going- to- inconvenience- me- like- this way. She very calmly reaches up to her left side of her chest where her name plate is and snaps off the magnet, setting it down. Without breaking eye contact with Cheryl, not-Pam grabs another name tag from her pocket and replaces the one she just removed. This one says  _ Bonnie, Regional Manager. _

 

“Hello,” Bonnie, the regional manager, says, “To quote an earlier statement, your son is a punk ass bitch.” 

 

“I am never shopping here again!” Cheryl screams, yanking her purse on her shoulder, “I will have this place shut down. I will call the sheriff and have you all arrested.  _ Arrested!” _

 

“Kay.” Bonnie says, completely unruffled, “Just make sure to send him the day after tomorrow. There’s a funeral for a very special cat I have to get to.” 

 

________________

 

Salmon was Albert’s favorite treat. Gram would buy the whole fish, smoked and dried from the north. She would make salmon salad, salmon burgers, and fancy salmon dinner over the course of a couple of weeks, giving the bones and unwanted bits to Albert. Whenever you would eat salmon, somehow he would know. No matter if he was on the other side of the field, the second you placed the fish on the plate he would race through the kitty door, rubbing on your legs and begging for a bite. 

 

Tonight in honor of him, Gram made salmon steak from the frozen section of the nearest Walmart. It’s a step up from the canned and dry fish that you’re used to, since you don’t exactly live near a body of water. Scalloped potatoes and cheesy broccoli on the side, you’re favorite but only when Gram makes them with her secret ingredients. Freshly squeezed minty lemonade, yours and Gramp’s spiked with a shot of vodka when Gram wasn’t looking. Tortoise brownies for dessert. 

 

While you are getting the cups out for the drinks, a knock on the front door draws you away from your task. “I’ll get it!” You call, walking over and opening the door. Micah from the wicca store is standing on your porch, looking a little shy with a gift in his hands. 

 

“I heard what happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He shifts his feet awkwardly, holding up a small gift bag, “I got these for you.”

 

You take the gift and open it, revealing two identical necklaces with small runes carved into circular, dark stone charms. One is human sized, one is a collar for a pet. “Oh,” You say quietly, holding them up, “Thank you.” You mean it. 

 

“It’s for protection, and warding off evil.” Micah explains, pointing to the symbols, “Good fortune, blessing psychic energy, and a shield for telepathic attack.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a jet black crystal as big as your thumb, “And also this. It helps, um,” he mumbles something in a language you aren’t familiar with, “What’s the word… Expand? I think. It helps expand your psychic energy.” 

 

“Thank you so much.” You’re rather shocked at how kind Micah is, now that you know him outside the shop incident. Also, to be fair, you  _ were _ kind of pillaging his store. “You didn’t have to do that,” You add, opening the door a little wider, “Why don’t you come in?” 

 

“May I?” Micah asks, eyes darting around until they meet Bonnie. She rolls her eyes and makes an exaggerated  _ please come in _ gesture with her arms, stepping aside as though an attempt to seem not threatening. It doesn’t work, as Bonnie’s whole thing is that she’s the epitome of aggression and violence, but the show of faith is enough to be encouraging. 

 

“Come on.” You urge. 

 

Gram, Grampa, Loki, Bonnie, Micah, and you (you still can’t believe that three people can count as your friends) all settle on the front porch, where Albert liked to lay during sunsets. You sit cross legged next to Loki, eating your salmon and drinking your spiked lemonade, occasionally brushing hands with him while you tell funny little stories about Albert. When you tried litter training him, how he would sit in the litter but wouldn’t go until you showed him you had a treat handy. How when he was a kitten, he would angrily run around in circles when you came home from school because  _ how dare you leave him alone. _

 

You’re wearing the charm necklace that Micah gave you, staring at the different runes while Gram tells everyone about the countless times Albert would bring dead birds in for her as a sign of affection. “I just wish he had some other way to show me he loved me,” She chuckles, taking a sip of lemonade, “That cat was one in a million. He was so good to you,” Her eyes are watering a bit, “So good to us, too.” The subtext is clear, Gram doesn’t want to get into how Albert helped you during your break, how he would alert your grandparents of your distress when you had anxiety attacks. 

 

“We will all miss him.” Grampa states, forgoing the illusion of drinking lemonade and instead taking a sip of whiskey.

 

_____________

 

You and Loki share the same bed that night, though nothing too scandalous happens. The two of you just snuggle up together in a tangle of limbs, fading into sleep as the moon rises above you.  Loki kisses the back of your hand, then your palm, then the inside of your wrist. “I love you.” He whispers as you press your lips into his neck. 

 

“I love you too.” You murmur, laying your head on his shoulder. His evergreen scent became something of a calming element to you, it’s the smell of  _ him, _ of being comforted and safe. You pull his covers up to your chin and sleep, harder and more peacefully than you’ve ever slept before. 

 

_ I love you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the first note I wrote on the first chapter? You can definitely go read it again if you want, but the gist of it is that this is -only- the beginning. So if you want to pretend that the story ends all cute and cuddly here, please feel free to. Abandon all hope, ye who turn to the next chapter.


	26. haha, PSYCHE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just write a novella in a month? *High fives self* Yes I did. Think of it as a month late NaNoWriMo thing I wanted to do but was too busy during November sadly. Thank you all your your kudos, for your kind comments, and for encouraging me to continue! I’m glad you all enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

“I find it amusing how well you’ve managed to adjust to this lifestyle, young Son of Laufey.” 

 

 He had sensed her presence, going out to meet her in an empty grazing field for the horses. Loki turns to face her, Hela, his sister, the woman who raised him from the ashes. She’s the same as he last saw her, long almost black hair that falls past her waist, black ashes dusted on her lids that emphasises her smoky jade eyes, her body lean and thin, emphasized by the skin tight body armor she wears. 

 

The fear is back again, sharp and terrible. His back burns when he looks at her, reminders of what she had done to him very literally scribed in his skin. Loki stands tall and schools all his features to cold indifference, something that he’s very well versed in. All the scenarios he runs through his mind that involve you end badly. 

 

“What do you want?” He asks, trying to tug up memories of Old Loki to help him win this battle of wits. Like always, they’re just beyond his reach. 

 

“I want you to come home with me, of course.” Hela begins to walk around him in circles, like a predator toying with its prey. “Everything is forgiven, baby brother. Your father misses you  _ dearly. _ ” 

 

Loki swallows, phantom pains of a time when he was cuffed and toyed with by his father and half brother Jotuns to ‘give him character’. “You mean he misses his favorite toy.” Loki corrects her, trying to summon anger to wash away the fear that is pulsing in his bones. “And allow me to guess, you miss our brother-sister bonding nights when you tried to get Fenris to eat me in the training arena.” 

 

“Oh, please,” Hela waves her hand, “I was trying to help you become better suited for the battle field.” 

 

“By sending your wolf to rip off my arm?” The anger is finally giving him some resemblance of bravery, but now he has to be sure not to stutter or show signs of hasty weakness. “No thank you, fair sister.” He doesn’t say how desperately he wants to stay here with you, with this family that has accepted him as one of their own. How much he craves for the night when you two go to bed together, snuggled up in the blankets. 

 

“Well it certainly made you quick on your feet, so I would say that my methods worked.” Hela states calmly, smiling as though she can smell his fear coming off of him in waves. 

 

“I don’t wish to return with you.” He’s careful with his words, nervous that saying the wrong thing will reveal his attachment to you. 

 

“To be frank, little brother, I don’t particularly care about what you wish.” She’s standing still now, arms at her sides but Loki can easily see them around his throat. He has no power over her, and they both know it. She could easily drag him kicking and screaming back to Jotunheim. 

 

“What could you possibly need me for? Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if I stay here, exiled and away from the war on both sides?” Loki appeals, trying to find the logic in going back. What reason would Hela have to make him return? He was a liability. He could try to reach out and spy for the other side again. Unless… Loki’s eyes widen at the realization.

 

“There we are, there’s the cunning little trickster I know. Have you figured it out yet?” Hela asks mockingly. 

 

“They’re looking for me.” Loki voice almost cracks with emotion, but he steels himself.  _ Feel nothing, show nothing. _

 

“And they have your location nearly centered.” Hela smiles at him again. Loki wonders what you would see inside her if you were here next to him. But he’s also thankful that you aren’t here, lest Hela have more firepower against him than she already has. 

 

“And you don’t want them to have me.” If Hela can’t have him, no one can. He’s her biggest failure, the enemy getting their hands on her biggest fuckup will cause her ego to shatter even more. That, and he has so many secrets he can spill to his foster family, it won’t even be funny. 

 

“Well, I could definitely kill you, but where would the fun in that be?” Hela wants him to suffer. She wants him to choke on the ashes of his betrayal, to grovel before her and beg forgiveness. Loki is fairly confident that she’s not going to just outright kill him, because there’s very little fun in that for the Goddess of Death. It’ll just limit the area of torture to Helheim. 

 

He doesn’t turn to see the house that you live in. Doesn’t give her any reason to suspect that he created a new family for himself here. He knows that just to spite him, she would smite all of you off of Midgard. Maybe save you for last, giving him pieces of your body over the course of a couple months. Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep breaths to calm himself.

 

“So that’s it, then. I leave with you now.” He’s sure to ask, to make sure she doesn’t have any extra plans that involve the destruction of the nearby town. Knowing Hela, he can never be too careful. 

 

Hela holds out her hand to him. She’s not smiling but Loki can taste the smug victory pouring out of her aura. He reaches over and takes her hand, her grip deathly stern. She pulls him into a mockery of a hug, not a show of tenderness of an assertion of dominance, “Do not make me punish you, little brother.” She threatens gently in his ear, “I know that you’ve been making friends here. I will not hesitate to dismember them and decorate your chambers with their body parts.” 

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling sister.” Loki’s throat is dry, but he manages to keep his tone upbeat and even. 

 

The wormhole opens, pulling them both away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to be honest with you real, real quick. This isn’t the actual story I am going to write. 
> 
> You: thIS iSN’t THe AcTUaL StOry YoU’Re GoING tO WrITe?!?!
> 
> Me: Omigod friend, calm the eff down.
> 
> No, this isn’t the actual ‘main’ part of this story. Allow me to quickly list some of my greatest pet peeves: 
> 
> Romance that happens with no real reason  
> Main leads have the personalities of potatoes  
>  Instant Love
> 
> And that’s practically it. I’m a pretty easy gal to please. I like well developed characters who feel real emotions for each other and aren’t like ‘I want to have character development BUT have you seen Person B’s EYES?’ And to have that kind of a romance, you need a background of some sort. You need a long enough history of some kind to be able to pull two people together, good chemistry doesn’t happen instantaneously. Or at least, it’s not an interesting story to read. 
> 
> So in order to write the kind of story I want to write, I had to spell it out for myself. Does this connection make sense? Would Person A reasonably risk their life for Person B? What are the extent of magick does this person have? What’s the science behind them? 
> 
> SO I AM PROUD TO SAY THAT I’M PRETTY SURE I HAVE THOSE TASKS *MOSTLY* CHECKED THE FUCK OFF. The real fun begins here. 
> 
> To repeat my notes from the last chapter, the next fic is going to hopefully get darker than this one here. I love horror and thriller genres, but have never really written them before. I’m learning, okay? Please be patient with me.
> 
> So I’ll see you guys in the next story in this series, Silent Comes the Dawn. Love you all!


End file.
